Magnum Opus I: Reepicheep
by Golden Panther
Summary: This is every single story I have written involving Reepicheep in a chronological order that actually makes sense. There was a reason for all of my stories and this was that reason. I present to you my magnum opus. Enjoy. Pre-PC-LB
1. PART ONE

_**Magnum Opus I: Reepicheep**_

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**Author's Note:** This is every single story I've written involving Reepicheep in chronological order that makes sense. Finished and un-finished work.

This is my magnum opus.

Enjoy.

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**-PART ONE-**

**In Concerning the World of Man Part I**

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_**The Allusions of Peace and War**_

Mr. Charles Carson opened the door precisely at seven-thirty on the morning of June 12th, 1934. Dressed in his uniform of black and precision, he put on a straight face as the motorcar of the Dowager Countess, a 1928 forest green Crossley, pulled up into the driveway. The Countess, who was wearing a dark blue dress with a floral design with matching hat that had a faux black flower, after being let out by her chauffeur, walked toward the butler with gratitude as if she had not been expecting him.

"Good morning My Lady," Carson replied with sincerity.

Violet smiled indifferently, like she always did with him. Carson knew from observation that the Dowager Countess does not care about greetings, only expectations and expectations equal results which end in praise and reward. She entered the house with jovial optimism, which is something she never did. Putting on a smile and a good image, she headed towards Robert, who was in the foyer. At the moment, he was talking to Thomas about the latest world news.

"Do you think that there will be a cleansing?" Robert asked, voice a bit hushed.

"I don't believe so," Thomas replied, "if anything the worst of it will be prison camps."

"What are you two conspiring about this time?" Violet asked once she got close enough.

Robert turned to her and with his best calm face said, "Stalin is apparently making some move toward his own people."

"Good," Violet replied, "it's about time the Russians do something about themselves."

"They're not savages," Thomas butted in, "they're people. They're just going through a rough patch is all."

Robert sighed, he knew somehow, someway the topic of Socialism versus Capitalistic Economy would turn up. It happened before the war during the revolt and it seems to be happening again. In a span of twenty years, history repeated itself and if there was one thing that Robert Crawley feared at the moment, was losing his house once again to men with schizophrenia and shell shock.

"Let's talk about this later," Robert said, "luncheon will be served in the library."

"Seems like I came at the right time then." Violet replied, smiling once again as they walked toward the library. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden floors and ascended to the ceiling harmoniously like a synchronized band of instrumentalists. Fittingly, Matthew's gramophone, which Mary had brought down from its place, played the sweet violin of Beethoven. The Pastoral.

Cora came into the library five minutes late for luncheon, apparently Phyllis Baxter was under the weather so Anna, who was busy as always, filled in. The Lady of the House came in wearing a black frilled shirt with matching necklace, hair in a respectable orderly and mature looking bun. Sitting on the couch, Cora looked over toward her mother in law with the slight superstition that she was too happy. For no one, in her American mind at least, would be this happy on any day. Granted the sun was out, the weather was fair and there was no reason to complain because every single affair (for the moment at least) had been settled, but it was still no reason to be gallivanting like Gerard Manley Hopkins.

"Why are you so happy?" Cora asked.

"Is it a crime to smile and be optimistic?" Violet asked back, giving her in law a stare which only in the mind of a fool could be mistaken as cheerful.

"I think she means, why the sudden mood swing." Robert said, sitting across from his wife on the beige couch, sipping his tea and reaching for the tray, selecting a few grapes and slowly eating them.

"He's right," Tom Branson, who was near the fireplace replied, "you're not exactly the jovial type."

"I beg your pardon." Violet said, slightly insulted, looking at Branson as if he had committed larceny.

"He's only joking Ma Ma," Edith (Gregson), who was dressed in a purple Parisian style dress replied. "but seriously, why the happiness?"

Violet rolled her head, she didn't like being pushed into mundane conversations and the subject of her happiness was one of them. It wasn't a scandalous affair to begin with, but it wasn't a mistake that one forgets about the next morning either.

"If you must know," Violet said, "I'm having an old friend come and visit me. It's been a long time since we've last spoken and I wish to look presentable."

"Where will he be staying?" Cora asked the same question she always did. If there was one thing she adored in this world it was to be hospitable to visiting friends and people in need. It showed, in her mind at least, that the rich can be rich for both themselves and to the less fortunate.

"I was expecting here." Violet said. "If you aren't busy that is-"

"Nonsense," Robert replied, "he will be most welcome. Who is he?"

"Commander Vasily Kazimir of the Red Army." Violet said.

Silence. Even Tom, the devout Socialist, could not speak at this. Everyone from Cora to Robert to Edith and Mary, who was sitting next to her mother, all had the look of disbelief and betrayal. It was as if the Great War had started up again, this time with the family in the literal line of fire.

"How could you associate yourself with a Russian? Let alone a Socialist?" Robert said, breaking the silence, when he turned to Tom in apology.

"None taken," Branson said, "I don't really like the sound of it. Just his name, Vasily, what kind of name is that anyway?"

"The name of composer." Violet replied, looking at Tom as if she were about to murder him. "He's named after Vasily Kalinnikov, a Russian composer of my generation." She turned towards everyone else, who still had that look of superstition that hint of uncertainty.

"You don't understand," she continued, "Vasily and I go back before the Boxer Rebellion. He's got to be about the same age as me, maybe even older. He does not agree with this Stalin business and he has no part in it. If it were up to him Russia would still exist."

"Why is he here?" Mary asked.

"He's visiting his nephew, Nikiv Popov, he's only a boy. Living with his grandparents who moved to London before the war." Violet said. "Vasily is a dear friend, he can be trusted."

"Alright then." Robert said.

Carson opened the door, allowing Alfred Nugent to walk in. He was delivering the day's lunch on a silver tray. It was Poulet aigu de Tarragon, a chicken dish with ginger cream sauce over steamed asparagus. There was still steam coming off the food so Alfred, in good nature, blew it away gently and left the room without a word with Carson following close behind.

"You have managed well for yourself as footman Alfred," Carson said once he closed the door. "I'm sure they will enjoy the lunch you prepared."

"Do you think so Mister Carson?" Alfred asked, a bit unnerved after his denial to the Ritz.

"If I told you that I secretly snuck a piece and told you it was heavenly would you believe me?" Carson asked.

"Not really sir, no."

Carson smiled as he and Alfred made their way back downstairs, "Believe it, because that's exactly what I did and that's exactly what it is."

Mister Bates, who was currently upstairs at the moment, checking in on everything being the sensible man he was, was delighted to hear that Rose, who decided that she wasn't hungry for some reason, took the liberty of changing the music selection on the gramophone to something more lively and beautiful than Beethoven. Rossini. Figaro was busy wooing a customer.

Bates walked towards Rose's room with purpose, for this particular piece gave him the confidence to walk without the use of his cane. Although he could never physically do it, he felt like he could every time Figaro started his famous and hilarious deception on the customer who was just trying to receive a decent haircut.

Rose MacClare, who was dressed in an ultramarine dress, white overcoat and dawning a string of pearls, imagined herself in Italy as she sprawled herself across the bed and laughed. She laughed as if she were being bombarded by a group of shih-tzus and rolled over, smiling at the thought of her being in Venice or Roma, somewhere off and away from this. Although she was appreciative of her mother allowing her to come, there was no question that she wanted more out of life, an adventure, which to her, simply breathing, eating and sleeping wasn't enough. She wanted to be a caviler, a Musketeer, a daring individual who's only last words are "carpe diem!"

She fell to the floor, closed her eyes for a moment, pictured herself in a fantasy and opened her eyes, allowing herself to be brought back to reality. She smiled at Bates who stood in the doorway.

"You must think me rather silly." Rose said.

"On the contrary," Bates replied, "I think it rather human to laugh when one is happy."

"Are you happy then Mister Bates?" Rose asked. "You never seem to laugh," she stood, "or are you just not the comedian sort of fellow who takes life too seriously."

"My personal life should not be a concern of yours." Bates said.

"Oh but it should, at least a little." Rose replied, "I hate to see someone who isn't happy. Is there anything I can do for you? Arrange a dinner for you and Anna someplace or buy you something?"

"No Lady Rose," Bates said sincerely, "but thank you for the Rossini."

Rose smiled, "Oh, so you listen to him?"

"He makes me feel like I can do anything. Like walk without a cane sort of anything." Bates said. "Well, I have other duties and matters to concern myself with. Have a good day."

"You too." Rose said, still smiling as Bates turned and went downstairs to the servant's hall to eat luncheon. If he was lucky, he would make it just in time for it.

At four-thirty seven Carson, the house staff and the nobility of the house: Robert, Violet, Mary, Tom Branson, Edith, Cora, as well as Isabelle (who arrived roughly an hour earlier) stood outside of the house as a 1932 Packard One Twenty Business Coupé pulled into the driveway. The motorcar was a purchase of Commander Kazimir after a visit to New York City and introduction to American automobiles sold him to buy one. The mahogany colored white wheeled vehicle shone in the sun like a new penny.

Jimmy did the kindness of opening the door for Vasily who came out dressed in military uniform displaying a medal, the Order of the Red Banner on his right chest pocket. He was a man of average height and cheerful disposition despite having gray hair, a receding hair line, a small goatee, which he kept in pristine military condition and a minor heart condition. His was seventy-four but he looked fifty.

"Ah, Violet," Vasily said in a very English sounding Russian accent, "it's been far too long."

"Yes it has Commander," Violet said smiling as he walked towards her. "How are you?"

"Fine as anyone can be considering the circumstances." Vasily replied. He turned towards Robert and shook his hand firmly.

"Lord Grantham," Vasily said, "I do hope I'm not burdening you with me staying here."

"Not at all Commander," Robert replied, "we're delighted to have you. I see you do not have a valet, we shall cover for you if you-"

"No that won't be necessary, my valet, Mikhail, is coming by later. He's a good fellow and has been here before."

"He has?" Robert asked, a bit intrigued.

"Oh yes." Vasily said, "As I'm sure you know, it's been a long time since I've been here. We were here when your father was Earl. He was a good man."

"Thank you," Robert replied, "come, let's not waste time out here. We can continue chatting in the library if you like."

"I would much prefer the dining room," Vasily said, as everyone proceeded to re-enter the house, "don't want to miss dinner." He laughed. "When will it be served?"

"In the next hour or so." Cora said. "If that is suitable for you."

"Of course it is!" Vasily beamed a bit, "In the meantime, I wish to reminiscence in the gardens."

Cora smiled at the old man, realizing that he was someone of her tastes, for the gardens was always a place of interest for her to take guests and she was delighted to hear that someone else wanted to see it (instead of being forced to). With a smile Cora said:

"I can take you if you like."

"Oh that would be splendid." Vasily said. He followed her through the library and out the side door.

Dinner was served promptly at five-fifteen. The china was set, the candles were lit and the meal was a beautifully prepared roast. Vasily sat across from Mary who looked at him with intrigue, specifically his medal.

"Which medal is that?" Mary asked. "I've seen one before in the papers but never actually got around to what it means?"

"It's the Order of the Red Banner, it means that I'm a branded Socialist." Vasily said. "If it were up to me I would never wear it."

"Why is that?" Tom asked. "What's wrong with it?"

Vasily turned towards him and looked at him as if he were an insane mental patient. The eyes of a man who has seen two wars, a revolution, a police shakedown and a forced military career stared Branson right in the face. A large frog developed in Tom's throat, just looking at the man made him want to cringe. It wasn't the fact that Vasily wasn't an ugly face to behold, it was the simple fact that Tom knew that Mister Vasily wasn't here simply for a friendly visit.

"Forget I asked." Tom said.

"Best keep forgetting," Vasily replied, "I do not wish to speak of this anymore whilst I'm here. Is that understood?"

Tom nodded, frankly, so did everyone.

"So," Robert said, changing the subject, "what exactly do you do Mister Kazimir?"

"Mostly retired these days." Vasily answered, "I just tend the house and the children now."

"Where do you live exactly?" Cora asked, a bit intrigued about everything involved with him. "You mentioned something about Moscow but you weren't very specific about it."

"On the outskirts of Moscow, on a small estate with few staff. Believe me, it isn't as glamorous as this." Vasily said with a laugh.

"I'm sure it's lovely." Violet said with a smile, "How is Katherine?"

Vasily sighed a bit, but there was a reminiscent smile to it, "She died about three years ago I'm afraid. Typhus is a deadly curse in Russia."

"Typhus?" Isabelle said, slightly concerned, "Surely you have proper care for people?"

"We do Lady Crawley," Vasily said, "but it is too far a journey from our home. There is a hospital in Moscow and that's where she stayed really but by the time we admitted her there it was too late."

"Oh I'm terribly sorry." Isabelle replied, "I'm sure she lived well."

"She did, thank you." Vasily said smiling. "She was the love of my life, save for Violet that is."

Violet blushed, "You can stop with the flirting any time now."

The Russian laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not going to sweep you off your feet, too old and too tired to do such things anymore."

Carson entered the room, chaperoning Jimmy Kent as he passed a tray full of Potato Salad with Lemon and Fresh Herbs, a side-dish that hailed from France. Vasily took a spoon full of it and tried it with his roast. It was divine. The Russian smiled, not because he was happy, but because he was relieved to have a decent meal without having to look over his shoulder. For a moment, he almost cried but remembered his place and where he was and kept his composure.

"Something the matter?" Mary asked, noticing that the Commander leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"He must be reminiscent." Edith replied. "Michael managed to catch a train from Munich to Canen so he'll be able to make it here tomorrow."

"That's nice." Cora said.

"I still don't approve of this idea. I mean Michael didn't have to convert to the Reich just so he could marry you." Robert said, looking a bit distraught as if he were back on the frontlines witnessing the death of five-hundred soldiers, envisioning Matthew as well as Michael among the dead. It burned the man's memory, to think of such fantasies and he often wondered if he missed Matthew more than Mary did. He knew this to be folly.

"I think it's quite romantic." Edith said. "I mean, this Hitler fellow doesn't sound too terrible does he?"

"He's a fascist." Robert replied sternly, "I will not have a fascist in this house. I'm just getting used to having a Socialist, if you turn to Fascism, well, you might as well hire an Arsonist and an Annarchist and burn the house down while preaching about how governments are destroying the human spirit and such nonsense."

"Once Michael Gregson gets here," Robert said, "I will not allow him to go back."

"Then you would be breaking the law." Edith replied. "Hitler obviously has the ambition to have every single German under his roof."

"Michael Gregson is an Englishman first." Robert said, giving his daughter an authoritarian stare, "He has dual citizenship."

"So, there's your loophole in love Edith," Mary said smiling, "I'm glad to see that you two are finally settling down. When is the wedding?"

"We're not sure." Edith said, turning towards her sister, "we are going to discuss it when he arrives."

Vasily turned towards Violet, "If you all will excuse me for one moment, I have some business to discuss with Mikhail over the phone, would you mind showing me where it is?"

Carson stepped in, "Allow me sir."

The butler showed the man out and to the nearest phone, which was in the main hall.

"Hang it up when you're finished." Carson said.

Vasily nodded, "Thank you sir."

He dialed a number and picked up the phone. "Mikhail, it's me, how is everything going?"

"Not good I'm afraid." Mikhail answered, his voice a bit deeper, for he was thirty-seven, still had a full head of hair, and there wasn't anything English about his Russian accent.

"Why, what's going on?" Vasily asked.

Mikhail sighed, "I'll explain it all when I arrive in the morning. Right now, there's no need to worry, get some sleep sir. You're going to need it."

Vasily hung the phone up. He wore his worst fears on his face. The mouth dropped, the eyes showed a broken hearted man who never cried in his life and his hands trembled and felt clammy. Even though he didn't know specifics, Vasily didn't need to. He knew what was going on.

"June 12th, 1934," Vasily said looking at his medal and taking it off his shirt, "the day my pride died." He placed the medal next to phone as he and Carson walked back to the dining room.

The Russian turned towards Carson, "You seem to be a man who can be trusted with truth."

"I haven't been known to lie very often." Carson replied.

"Good," Vasily said, "because another war is coming."

"So what are you suggesting in terms of bringing out the news?" Carson asked.

"Say nothing, it isn't for certain, but Stalin is-" he paused, the heartbreak of his country destroying itself a second time was too much for him. Tears fell from his face.

"I'll excuse you from dinner." Carson said. "In the meantime, Miss Anna shall attend to you."

Vasily nodded, "Thank you sir."

Jimmy exited the room with an empty tray and smile on his face. "Mister Kent," Carson said, "would you be so kind as to send for Anna to care for Commander Vasily, he isn't well. Send Mrs. Hughes if she is available."

Jimmy nodded, "Of course Mister Carson." He said and walked rather slowly about the whole ordeal. To be honest, Jimmy felt that being a footman carried a bit more weight than it actually did and he felt obligated to show the nobility, but specifically, Mister Carson, that.

"Can I have a chair?" Vasily asked, voice a bit breathy.

Carson led him to a nearby one. He turned to see if Jimmy was walking smugly or not, he was still in the main hall, meandering like a tourist in the British Museum. "Be quick about it James!"

Jimmy looked over, saw the distress and practically ran down the stairs to fetch Anna and Mrs. Hughes. Carson meanwhile, re-entered the dining room.

"Apologizes for the disturbance My Lordship but Commander Kazimir is not feeling too well. He shall be taken to his room and looked after." Carson said.

"Oh my," Violet said, "whatever is the matter?"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious My Lady, just a bit of shock over some news." Carson replied.

"What news Carson?" Robert asked.

Carson sighed and although he technically swore to a mild level of secrecy, he went about saying the truth in a roundabout way. "If I were to tell you that Downton was to be reconverted back to a hospital in the near future would you believe me?"

"Yes, unfortunately." Robert said. "Is there cause for alarm?"

"Not yet," Carson said, "Vasily believes that there will be another war. He does not know when or where, but there will be another."

"Why is that? I thought the Treaty of Versailles was meant to keep the world at peace?" Mary said.

"Peace has a funny definition in politics," Tom said, "and think about it, you're dealing with Socialists, to be honest, we're not exactly the most understanding of people."

"For once Tom, I agree with you." Robert said. "Does anyone else know of this Carson?"

"If they did," Carson replied, "then they would be preparing themselves for heartache and misery. Good news is, they're not."

"Don't tell them," Robert said, "we don't want everyone going into panic or hysteria. It's the last thing we need right now."

"I'll keep a note of it sir." Carson said and left the room.

Anna settled Vasily into bed while Mrs. Hughes went downstairs to summon Doctor Clarkson. The room was splendid and almost insultingly red. Just because a man hails from a red country does not mean he approves of the color, but to be honest, Vasily was at the stage in his life when the color of walls and floors mean nothing and only a soft bed and hospitality does. Dressed in his bedclothes, Vasily managed to get himself into bed but Anna insisted on doing the rest.

"You suffered a shock sir," Anna said sweetly, "I don't think it's best you moving around."

"I can set my own clothes for tomorrow thank you." Vasily said. Anna smiled but continued with her routine anyway.

Mrs. Hughes entered the room. "Doctor Clarkson will be here within the hour." She said. "Is there anything I can get you sir?"

"A glass of water and perhaps an aspirin, my head is killing me."

Mrs. Hughes nodded and left, looking back on the man as if it were the last time he would see him.

Doctor Clarkson arrived earlier than expected at nine-thirty instead of ten. Carried his medical supplies he was shown in and administered Vasily a sedative to help him sleep through the night. When he was finished with his diagnosis, he left the room and beheld the waiting party of Robert, Cora, Violet, Mary, Isabelle, Rose and Tom.

"How is he?" Violet asked.

"He's fine, just a bit taken aback from shock." Clarkson replied, "He has a migraine so best keep him in bed for a few days. I'll come by again tomorrow and check on him."

"Thank you, Doctor Clarkson," Cora said smiling out of habit.

"Well," Violet replied, "it seems I best be going. Don't want to disturb his slumber." Robert and Tom lead her downstairs to the main hall.

"I think I'll turn in early," Mary said. "Good night." She hugged and kissed everyone she loved that was there and walked down the hallway to her room.

"I do hope he's alright." Rose said. "He seems like such a nice fellow."

"He'll be fine." Clarkson assured, "Now if there is no need for me, I best be getting to bed too."

He said his goodbyes and walked out, waving to Violet as her chauffer pulled up into the driveway and drove home just as the sky was beginning to turn the color raven and the moon shone like a lantern, illuminating the world, bringing light into a dark and confused world for one final time before the bombs are dropped and the life is spilled. The last moon of peacetime.

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_**The Power of Darkness and Fear**_

**The People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs (NKVD) Headquarters**

**St. Petersburg Division**

**December 1st, 1934**

"Send in Commissioner Medved please." said Sergei Mihaylov.

"Yes sir." said Isidor. "How do you want him presented?"

Sergei stood from his desk chair and waved cigar smoke away from his face. Placing his hands on the visibly warped desk, the Executive of the Secret Police stared directly at his underling's collar so that when he sneered it wasn't too personal.

"As degrading and humiliating as possible." Sergei said, placing a very thick Sobranie cigar in his mouth. He took a drag, letting the fumes get into his system before exhaling like St. George's dragon: smoke, no fire, too yellow to be fierce, but daring enough to cause fear. The perfect display of power in a single puff of cigar smoke.

Isidor nodded and headed towards the door. The silver doorknob squeaked as he turned it, its voice silenced by the door and Isidor's swift stride out.

On Sergei's desk lay a manila folder labeled "Phase I". Opening it, Sergei felt the weight of ten thousand pounds come down on his chest. Even though he had seen the contents of the folder, mostly photographs, he still couldn't control the urge to be human. He resumed his chair and individually examined each photograph, hoping to find some sort of justification for the means.

There was a photograph of a man in a red polo shirt and fall jacket. He had a well defined mustache and beard as well as massive ears. His eyes stared into the camera as if he had nothing left to live for, as if the world was now occupied by an alien race who's only ambition was annihilation. He had no political party affiliation and had no reason to be involved. An innocent fly caught in an unforgiving spider's web. On the back was a date, October 5.

Another was of a grieving mother who had just witnessed the death of her last child. Her face was chiseled into eternal mourning for herself, her country and her husband, who had been detained in Black Dolphin Prison three weeks before this photograph. She wore a white button up shirt and a black overcoat. Her hair was combed and presentable, for she always did this out of habit- for the University of Donetsk required professionalism. She had no political party affiliation and her only sin in the world was being a professor. On the back was a date, August 28.

A man of respectability and service hadn't a speck of fear as he was branded a counter-revolutionist. His posture was honorable, his eyes were clairvoyant, his mind was clear. The only sin he committed was being in service to God. On the back was a date, August 14.

A child of thirteen, a man of seventy-four, a woman of twenty-eight, a priest, a writer, a farmer, a Bolshevik political official, a ditch digger, a fisherman and a poet. All of them immortalized in fear and destruction and all in purview of The Red Banner.

Isidor knocked at the door. "He's here sir."

Sergei closed the folder and placed it to the side of his desk before grabbing a tissue and dabbing his eyes a bit. He didn't cry, but he just wanted to make sure. He discarded the tissue in the garbage can.

"Come in." He said.

Isidor opened the door and stood to the side, allowing Commissioner Feodor Medved to walk into the room. Wearing the uniform of his position and carrying an off white piece of paper in his hand, Medved boasted a tranquil face as Isidor closed the door behind him and blocked it. Sergei stared at him, giving an accurate impression of why he called him in.

"Sit down Commissioner." Sergei said motioning to the vacant chair opposite him with his hand. Feodor took a seat, noticing that Mister Mihaylov was beginning to wave his cigar like a hand-held fan- back and forth back and forth. The smoke swirled like a boa, constricting the air and killing any confidence or self worth that was present.

"I suppose you know why you're here." Sergei said.

"I do," Feodor replied, "I understand my failure and I wish to hand in my resignation."

Medved handed Mihaylov the paper, detailing the reasoning as well as giving a clairvoyant explanation as to why there was no justification for the means. Sergei scanned the letter once, twice and a third time. To his right was a blue Stipula fountain pen. The gold nip had a bit of tarnish but other than that, the pen was a sound instrument of business. Sergei reached for the pen and underneath Medved's name below the words 'Sincerely Yours' he signed his name large enough for Joseph Stalin himself to be able to read it.

Sergei placed the pen to its original position, looked towards Feodor with all the sincerity in the world. "I suggest that you pack your belongings and head to Switzerland, Mister Medved."

"Why Switzerland sir?" Medved asked.

Sergei stood up, folded Medved's resignation letter and handed it to him. "Switzerland is the last place Stalin would look for you." He motioned for a small drawer to his left, opening it and producing a Nagant M1895 revolver and one 7.62x38mmR ammunition cartridge. He loaded the bullet in the chamber and turned the safety off.

"Don't worry Feodor, it's nothing personal." Sergei said. "It's just business."

Medved stood from his chair, placed the letter in his inner coat pocket and straightened his uniform. The belt was resituated to line up with the buttons of the coat as well as the zipper of the pants. He placed his hands by his side lining up with the seam after he straightened his name tag as well his Order of the Red Banner medal that proudly hung on the left pocket.

Isidor smiled, crossed his arms and laughed. He took pride in moments such as this, when the accused are given their sentence and pronounced guilty. His mind began to wander, thinking of the yarn he would spin when telling this story. The Greatest Era of the Russia began with the trial, conviction and execution of Commissioner Feodor Medved, head of security for that son of a bitch Kirov.

Sergei raised his pistol.

"Any last words?" Isidor asked.

Medved said nothing. He did not even blink as Sergei applied pressure to the trigger. He did not twitch his eye when the gunpowder exploded and Newton's third law of motion took over, sending the bullet through a grooved barrel. There was however, a bead of sweat that trickled down the left side of his face as the bullet exited and headed towards his left side at approximately 1,700 mph and a sigh of relief as Isidor Dalca slowly fell to the floor dead.

"I suggest that if you want to live," Sergei said, "then you get yourself to Switzerland."

Feodor nodded slowly. Looking back at Isidor, he had a mixed emotion of remorse and guilt. He walked over to the poor soul, kneeled down and closed his eyes. He sighed, it was long, deep and mournful.

"How many more must die like this Sergei?" He asked.

"Until Stalin bleeds and dies." Sergei replied as he grabbed his pistol, all of the ammunition for it, his pen and the manila folder of photographs and made his way around to desk quickly. Even though he had nothing to fear he felt as if he had assassinated Czar Nicolas and felt guilty about it.

"Now," he said, "get yourself to Switzerland."

"What about you?" Medved asked as he quickly pushed Isidor's body out of the way.

"I have bigger problems to deal with than the execution block." Sergei replied, "Besides, he was expendable anyway. I could always make something up saying that he was attempting to assassinate me. I'll be fine. You my friend need to get out of the country."

Medved nodded and placed his hand on the doorknob, "Why are you doing this?"

"Sergei," Feodor said, "calm yourself."

Sergei took a breath and motioned for Feodor to open the door. He did so and they walked down the hallway, Mihaylov didn't even bother to shut the door. Instead, he just kept on walking.

"What are you going to do, I mean I know you have nothing to worry about, but won't there be suspicion somewhere?" Feodor asked as they passed a women's restroom.

"I have relatives near Moscow," Sergei said, "they own a small estate. I'll go there for a few months if need be. For now, I'll see about turning this fiasco around. Now, catch a train, go to Switzerland. Contact me when you get there."

Feodor nodded. "Of course but, you still didn't answer my question, why are you doing this for me?"

Sergei sighed and stopped walking. He knew his reasoning but he also knew that he was being a hypocrite in some circles and a crazy fool in others. He turned towards Medved, looked into his eyes and said words that a certain mutual friend said hours before: " Leonid Nikolayev"

Medved's heart skipped a beat. Someone who wasn't even there to witness it knew the last words of his comrade, Sergey Mironovich Kirov. He reached out his right hand, Sergei shook it.

"Be safe Sergei Mihaylov. God knows you need it." Feodor said. They ceased the handshake but they didn't let go as a mutual sign of respect.

"The same comrade, I'll create a diversion long enough for you to get to at least Vienna." Sergei said.

"I'll make arrangements." Medved said. He released the grip and smiled a bit. "Thank you sir, you saved my life."

Sergei nodded quickly and motioned for him to leave. Without a moment's delay Feodor left the building and by seven o'clock that evening was in Eastern Poland.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Romanov Estate**_

_**Kolomna, Russia**_

_**January 15th, 1935**_

Mikhail Alkaev opened the door as soon as he heard the breaks of a car. Clad in a formal dress shirt, burgundy waistcoat and a black single breasted jacket with matching trousers, he carried a welcoming but stern disposition as Sergei Mihaylov exited a 1922 Ford Model T. The sun, which was higher than usual, caused Mikhail to squint slightly. A steady wind blew Sergei's black hair and his brown wool coat to the right a bit like a thick borough with winter leaves still attached.

"Good morning sir!" Mikhail said, shouting to outdo the wind.

Sergei smiled and embraced him as he walked through the doorway. "You know you can call me by my first name."

Mikhail shut the door, took Sergei's coat and placed it on the hook on the wall.

"Yes," Mikhail said, "but it's the formalities of business."

Sergei laughed as he walked across the wood floor of the large foyer with a high cathedral ceiling. A glass chandelier from the Czar's Palace hung overhead giving a soft light to the place. To the right up against the far wall was a fireplace. On the mantel was an unfinished portrait of Czar Nicolas painted in during his final hours. His uniform was perfect, his medals displayed with dignity, the right in the coat pocket, the left loyally on a piece of paper, most likely The Address of Bloody Sunday that was never written or given but should have been. It was very fitting that the head was not present.

Two chairs, a rug and a coffee table lay near the fireplace but they offer little importance to the inhabitants the estate- Mister Vladimir and Sonya Mihaylov-Romanov who, like all believers in the Tsar, refused to believe that this Stalinist government, or as it is now referred to as the new regime of the law, existed. In fact, they behaved as if they were stuck in 1905, when Nicholas II of Russia was still salvageable from his ruin- then again; in 1905 he was busy with domestic affairs, namely tennis. In other words, Tsar Nicholas II running an incompetent absolute monarchy.

Vladimir, who was dressed as if he were facing a military inspection, walked down a staircase with his wife and daughter in law in tow. The head of the house smiled as he looked down and saw his eldest son and rushed down like a child at Christmas.

"Sergei!" He said optimistically, "I'm so glad you're home!" The man almost hugged the officer but settled for a hardy handshake. "How are you these days?"

Sergei smiled and placed a hand on his father's shoulder, "Fine отец, just fine."

Vladimir's wife, Vera, wore a purple dress and matching necklace for the occasion. She smiled and hugged the military man with a warm embrace as if she had been yearning to see if for several years now. Sergei smiled back, the embrace of his mother made him feel like a military puppet and more like a human being.

"How are you?" Sergei asked.

"Fine," Vera replied, "better, now that you're around."

The daughter in law and Sergei's sister in law, Abigail, was a radiant woman originally from England. With the grace and beauty of a queen, she smiled and cherished Sergei lovingly and warmly more and more with each second, as if he were a filler for her husband, a reminder of him. In a way, that's how she felt about him, Sergei, for ever since Vasily's disappearance, the world grew dark, malevolent, full of forces to be reckoned with, and people to hate and to fear.

"It's been too long Sergei," Abigail said, still having her arms around him, "how've I've missed you."

"It's great to see you too, Abby," Sergei replied with a smile as he forced her to let go with a respectable retreat. "If you're wondering about Vasily, I haven't received-"

Abigail smiled and placed her finger on Sergei's lips, "Don't speak of it now Sergei," she said, "I'm sure he's fine."

She moved towards the dining room and turned towards Vladimir.

"Are we to eat or are we to starve." She said.

Vladimir nodded and ushered Sergei and his wife into the room.

It was Victorian style. A chandelier over the large table that could seat fourteen, six on one side, six on the other and one at each end. Candles in silver candelabras shone with grace and pride, taking no mind in giving the fine silverware and china a chance to gain some recognition. The ceiling was the color of a French crème pasty and the faces of the seraphs gently serenaded of daring feats of valor with knights and debutantes.

Lunch was already served onto three plates. It was a meal of a roast beef sandwich with pepper jack cheese, olives and mustard with a bowl of homemade potato soup. For drink there was water- alcohol was forbidden in the house.

As the benefactors of the house sat down at the table, Mikhail dutifully stood at the threshold of the kitchen and foyer. Humble footsteps, belonging to Mrs. Sonya Fidget, came down the stairs. At the moment, she wore her mandatory service cap and apron, both of which were crisp white. Carrying a large tray under her left arm she turned rather militantly to the dining room, almost as if she were preparing to enlist in the Red Army.

"Why Mrs. Fidget," Mikhail said smiling sweetly, "how are you this morning?"

"Wonderful sir," Sonya replied with an equal smile. She stopped almost immediately and took a breath from all the rushing. "Master Nikiv isn't feeling well this morning, he has a slight fever, so I'll just be sending up a plate for him."

"Very good," Mikhail replied with a hand motion towards the room, "do send up my regards."

Sonya laughed a bit as she entered the room, grabbing a plate and glass and setting them on the tray.

"He's not dying," she said turning back to Mikhail, "he just has a minor chill that's all."

"Oh, is something the matter with Nikiv?" Vladimir asked.

"Just a slight fever sir," Sonya replied, "should be well by dinnertime."

Vladimir nodded, satisfied with the answer as he reached for his spoon and began partaking the potato soup. It was divine. A gift from heaven in a land plagued by winter and crass politics. The potatoes were tender and moist like a warm summer's afternoon and the smell of it effectuated the nostrils in a way that was almost poetic, something out of Shakespeare or Innokenty Annensky- beautiful, tragic, and elegant.

Vera slowly at her sandwich, keeping watch of Sergei only a concerned mother could. She noticed the way that his shoulders were broader, his hair was given a touch of gray, and his eyes, which were once blue and full of energy, were now grayer as if the life had been vacuumed out, the fire of the revolutionary boy was extinguished and was replaced with nothing.

"So, Sergei," Vera said in attempts to engage in formal conversation, "what is the news from St. Petersburg?"

Sergei sighed and stopped himself from taking another bite of food. He was about to finish his roast beef sandwich.

"Mother," he said, "I wish not to talk of political affairs at the moment."

"Oh but we must talk about political affairs if we are to survive in this new regime, Sergei." His mother replied with a small but noticeable laugh.

Sergei rolled his eyes as footsteps belonging to Mister George Barrett, a British footman and Ivan (otherwise known as Kent), a conditioned mouse who served as Barrett's assistant, entered the room. George, who was carrying Kent via his hand, slowly asked around to see if any refills of drinks were needed. As he made his way to Sergei, the footman sat Kent down on the table. The mouse immediately began to scurry over to the vacant seats and straighten out the silverware with his teeth and nose, pushing and pulling the forks and knives and such in their proper places. The mouse then moved to the candelabras to simply look at see if the wicks were still burning. After satisfying himself with that knowledge he proceeded to move from Mister Vladimir down to Sergei gently waiting until each person petted him or not as a way of showing appreciation to be allowed to work. His payment of course was food. When Kent reached Sergei, the career military man reached out his right hand and stroked Kent's back and smiled.

"You're a good one Kent." Sergei said. "Make sure to help yourself to the cupboard. Don't want you starving now."

George came back around to collect his little helper. "Don't give him any ideas Mister Sergei." George said, "He may not be able to talk, but he understands what you're saying."

Sergei laughed as he let Kent jump from the table back into George's hand and let George and the rodent exit without another word.

"I know there's a reason for you coming here that you're simply not telling us." Abigail, who sat across from Sergei, said.

"Come now," Vladimir, who sat at the head of the table that faced the window, replied, "if he does not wish to speak of it let him keep his business to himself."

Sergei looked in his father's direction, even though he was at the other end of the table, he could see that a large single gray hair was stuck to Vladimir's right lapel and that his hands were relatively frail and shaky, as if he were suffering from a scare or the beginning phases of Parkinson's disease.

"Father," Sergei said, "are you alright?"

"Yes," Vladimir replied, looking back at his son with a smile, "it's just old age that's all."

A voice came from upstairs followed by footsteps. "Is Uncle Sergei here?"

"Yes," Mrs. Fidget, who was with him at the top of the stairs, "but don't hurry yourself, he'll still be there when you get down."

Sergei smiled, stood from his place and walked out of the room and into the foyer. When he saw his nephew dressed in his best clothes and still smiling as if there wasn't a fever to speak of, Sergei smiled and laughed.

"How's my little soldier today?"

"Wonderful!" Nikiv said, "I'm doing a lot better now."

The boy and the maid descended the stairs and when they reached the bottom, Nikiv gave his uncle a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. Sergei removed his hat and placed it on the boy's head.

"You've been a good boy while I was away?"

Nikiv laughed, "Yes."

"Hmm…are you sure?" Sergei asked playfully.

"Yes!" Nikiv said.

"I don't think you are!" Sergei laughed as he bombarded his nephew with tickling and quality time at the base of the staircase.

* * *

The first winter snow dragged on. Slowly and elegantly, snowflakes fell onto the exterior of the windowpane, on a small ledge of brick and stone. As the world entered hibernation, the wind blew the snow and the cold in every direction making swirls and wisps of free-fallen snowfall.

Dressed in a dress made from fine green and gold silk, Lucy Pevensie was busy brushing her hair with a comb humming the tune to "The Way You Look Tonight" as she looked in a mirror and sat in a chair with red velvet upholstery.

The room was heavenly aristocratic. Across from the vanity that Lucy sat was a large bed and a chest that sat at the foot of it. To the left and right, flanking the bed like two bodyguards were twin nightstands, each with a candle which sat dutifully in a silver candlestick. At the far end of the room was a grand window draped with ivory curtains. The color of the wall was that of a rose- dark but not so much that the room appeared small.

Standing on his hind legs on the chest at the foot of bed patiently waiting for orders was Reepicheep. The loyal, chivalrous, and at times, admittedly overzealous mouse who wielded a rapier (which never left him). At the moment, the mouse was partaking in the role of valet- handing whatever it was necessary for Lucy to present herself well. All that remained of the necessary elements for a lady was a necklace. Three of them, a string of pearls, a string of diamonds, and a string of emeralds, were laid out pristinely neck to the rodent who was thinking to himself why she needed something as so chic as a jeweled necklace.

"Do you think Caspian fancies me, Reepicheep?" Lucy asked, still brushing her hair and smiling at herself.

Reepicheep smiled, either afraid to answer or embarrassed to, "If milady wishes me to be honest," he said, "I should say that he does, but not necessarily in the way that you believe him to."

"Well," Lucy replied, placing the bush down and looking at the mouse solely through the mirror, "we shall see, now won't we?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Reepicheep said, "we shall see and be in wonder, surprise, or shock. Hopefully there is not a combination of the three."

"Have you selected which would do best?" Lucy asked.

"Something tells me that diamonds will do," Reepicheep answered, "but something also says the emerald. The pearls seem old fashioned and a bit matron to me."

"Matron, is it?" Lucy said, "I was rather keen on the pearls until you called me old."

"Perhaps that was the wrong word to use." The mouse admitted.

Lucy nodded and turned around and gave Reepicheep a face that was not cross but it was not satisfactory either. "It was," she said, "but it is not a sin to have an opinion, especially on something as silly and mundane as a necklace."

Reepicheep turned towards the pearls and sighed a bit before walking over to them and inspecting them a final time. "Well," he said, "they are beautiful. I'm sure they will do the occasion justice."

"If it is not what you think," Lucy said, "then it is not what I will go with."

The mouse smiled at this and relaxed himself by leaning on the bed, letting his tail fall in between the chest and the outer sheet.

"My only requirement as valet is to recommend what suits, my only requirement as equerry is to carry out was is requested. My opinion rarely matters, should never alter yours and should not be considered unless absolutely necessarily."

"But as least you have an opinion." Lucy said, "That's why I wanted you to help me, you can speak your mind, unlike the rest of them, it's always 'Yes, Your Majesty' this and 'Yes, milady' that."

She rolled her eyes, as if the painful memories of words and phrases that occur daily were simply too much for her mind to handle. Reepicheep laughed a bit.

"Yes, I suspect the whole business of formalities can be daunting." Reepicheep said, "However, you could always order for us to call you something else."

"I hate that word, order, it makes me sound like a tyrant." Lucy said.

"Would suggest be a better synonym? Or instruct, direct, give permission, ukase even?" He shook his head, laughing again, "Ukase is such an odd one, and anyway do you get the message? If it's not an order then what exactly would you call it?"

Lucy stopped a moment. To be honest, she never really thought about it. All she knew was that she hated that superficial and commanding word. It was really the only word that could describe precisely what it was that it was intended to.

"I guess we'll stick to orders. For now anyway, until I can find a better word." Lucy said. "Now, if you would be so kind to hand me the diamonds or the emeralds, whichever your preference?"

Reepicheep shook his head, "I'm afraid my preference," he said, "would be to discard this and present you as is. It may come as a surprise to you but you do not need diamonds or emeralds to enhance yourself, when you already have the qualities of those in you already."

Lucy smiled and admittedly blushed. Her cheeks turned slightly red as she stood from her chair and kneeled down to the rodent's level.

"Stop with your gracious words," she said, "or I'll have you imprisoned."

"Under what charges?" Reepicheep asked, smiling as he did so.

"For making me blush." Lucy replied and gently kissed him on his furry cheek. Reepicheep's whisker's twitched slightly, almost as if he had been electrocuted as a sensation of fulfillment and arousal ran up and down his spine. His mind did not go where it normally would, for his conscious knew its place, but to say that his heart wasn't moved would be a lie and an understatement at the same time.

"The court finds me guilty on all charges and sentences me to death." Reepicheep said as he raised his right.

Lucy reached for nothing and stood up again. "Then I shall resurrect you."

Reepicheep laughed as he waved her on with his paws, wanting nothing more than for her to gallivant in the splendor that was to be something of a splendid occasion- a ceremony of whom Caspian should marry. As Lucy walked out of the room, she placed the necklace on her neck and turned back towards the mouse, as if to say 'gratitude is not necessarily good enough'.

"Why go without?" Reepicheep said.

If Lucy were to answer that question truthfully it would be because the mouse had persuaded her to, but instead she produced a lie that was not false, but less true than what her head was thinking.

"The emeralds will irritate me, the diamonds will blind me, and the pearls, let's be honest here for a moment-I'll fiddle with them 'til the world ends." Lucy said.

Lucy turned towards the hallway and walked through the threshold of the door. "Are you coming?"

Reepicheep said nothing as he jumped from the chest to the floor and scurried over to the door. When he was beside Lucy and out of the way, Lucy closed the door and walked down the hallway. Reepicheep followed without protest noticing how the tile floor reflected the walls and ceiling and even himself as he walked. He stopped a moment, stood up on his hind legs again, straightened his fur and continued on all fours.

As they made their way towards the ballroom, Lucy looked into the library, the tea room, the conference room, and the guest bedrooms, noticing that all of the doors were open and that the light produced from there gave the hallway a darker, more medieval castle type of feel, despite the fact that there were candles on the wall every three feet or so. To be fair though, the ceilings were at least fifty feet into the air, and the airy cathedral-like space made one feel small and insignificant.

"I always hate this time of night," Lucy said, "it gives this place a dark feel, if you catch my meaning."

"Yes," Reepicheep replied, "it is a bit grim, but, at least there's no reason other than poor lighting planning for it to be grim, so that's good I suppose."

Lucy nodded, not wanting to argue with that logic and took a left at an intersection. If they were to have continued straight, they would have ran into a door that leads to a courtyard, if they would have strayed right they would have gone into Caspian's room.

The ballroom was resplendent in every sense of the word. White cloths hung from the ceiling and draped across the room, cascading into troughs and weaving through columns and ending beautifully on the floor. Candelabras on the wall and those in stands illuminated the place almost as good as electricity and the denizens present and dressed in their best, were all patiently waiting for Caspian, Peter, and Edmund's arrival, who were all out hunting for the main course- duck. Their goal was to catch fourteen- enough to feed the party and then some.

Evander, a satyr as well as the chief secretary of the treasury, was busy talking to Jason, a centaur and the chief ambassador to the Centauri, the group of people that included the races of the satyrs and the centaurs. The conversation was political and involved taxation.

"All I'm saying is," Evander said, "we must generate some sort of income. If not hunting then the solution is agriculture and then we shall move into trade."

Jason shrugged his shoulders, "Only if this winter lets up then yes, I propose and support that notion. We must progress forward."

"Good," Evander replied, "I'm glad you can see to progress, now, let us be gay in our spirits!"

He and Jason walked towards a table with wine and assortment of cheeses when they turned and saw Lucy enter they first said nothing and then bowed as low as they could to the ground.

"Her Majesty, Lucy Pevensie!" They said, almost in unison, which caused everyone in the room, about seventy people, to do the same. It was a spectacular moment of synchronization that can only be described as being insane and a form of deep respect.

"You can rise now," Lucy said after a few moments. She walked into the room and into her welcome party, leaving Reepicheep to the sidelines to think of philosophy and limerick as he was often known to do whenever finishing something of importance.

"Have they come back yet?" Lucy asked as she walked towards Evander.

"No they haven't milady," Evander answered, "but you shouldn't worry, they must be on their way."

"They have been gone since this afternoon though," Lucy said, "and they said they wouldn't go far."

"Perhaps they underestimated the journey." Jason said, looking towards the large door that was across the room that led outside. The wind picked up into a fury, hollowing with the wolves and beating the world into submission as if it plotted conquest. A pounding on the door. It was thunderous and urgent, but the urgency was outmatched by the storm who screamed over the pleas to open the door to let whomever it was in.

A pause.

Boom.

Another pause.

Boom.

A third.

Boom.

At this point, a Minotaur who was near the door, was starting to get a headache and opened the door so that his pain could be relieved.

Caspian and Peter rushed in. Their faces blue, their clothes covered in snow, and shaking from hypothermia. The Minotaur quickly moved to close the door when he was stopped by a vicious blood stained talon which grabbed the door as if to beg for mercy.

The bull hybrid peered his head around and saw a war beaten owl. Some of its feathers were plucked and the poor creature's face was mauled beyond recognition. The eyeballs were scratched, the beak appeared broken and twisted, a large bleeding scar ran from the middle of his head all the way down to middle of his eyes, as if he were split open and sewed back together again. The Minotaur stepped to one side and the let the owl through, not assisting him, and shut the door.

The bird collapsed to the ground after thirty seconds of flight. It let out a groan and closed its eye for a moment, breathing sweet salvation.

Caspian and Peter limped their way to the middle of the room before they too submitted to the ground and just let themselves be for a moment, thankful to be in a safe place once again.

Lucy and Evander rushed over anxiously and slowly helped Caspian and Peter. Lucy taking Caspian's arm and Evander taking Peter's.

"What happened, where's Edmund?" Lucy asked.

Caspian took a breath before answering, "That's the problem," he said, "we don't know."

Lucy's face went from concerned to grief filled almost instantly, it was as if the pain of losing her brother in another winter was just too much for her to bare. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"He means," Peter said, equally as breathy, "he was taken. We were ambushed, I'll tell you all about it later, right now, I think we both need to lie down."

Lucy turned towards her brother and said nothing as the Minotaur walked forward, carrying the owl gently in his arms.

"Your Majesties," the Minotaur said, "this bird is injured." He turned towards Peter and Caspian, "Did he save you?"

Caspian and Peter nodded, "Kashmir of Milland."

"Who may I ask," Lucy said, "are you?"

"Regis, may lady." The Minotaur replied.

"Take him to my chamber, I shall see to him later." Lucy said. She nodded once, bidding Regis goodbye for now as she ushered Caspian towards his room with Evander and Peter in tow.

Reepicheep, who was watching this unfold before him, slowly made his way back to Lucy's chambers to prepare himself for the position of medical officer. As he walked into the intersection the mouse felt a sudden chill overtake him. Looking to his left, Reepicheep noticed that the door was wide open, letting snow, wind, and the outside temperature inside. He also saw Susan, the eldest sister to Lucy and Edmund, stand on a concrete step in solely her nightgown, not bothering with shoes or a coat. The wind whipped her hair to the right, looking like Botticelli's Venus with each passing moment.

Concerned, Reepicheep scurried over, bracing himself for the chill and stood a respectable distance away.

"Are you alright, Your Majesty?" He asked.

Susan said nothing. She just stood there like a corpse. Unresponsive, emotionless, and comatose.

Reepicheep took another step forward. "Come back inside and we can talk about-"

He was interrupted by the sudden release of an arrow and the even more sudden the target of said arrow. Even though it took less than two seconds, for Reepicheep it lasted for five minutes. The expiring of a life before him had been experienced before, but that was in war. Never has it been done in peacetime. Susan fell backwards and impacted the ground, if the arrow did not kill her then the bashing of the skull against the tile certain did. Her brunette hair surrounded her head as her head slowly became encompassed in small red rivers. The arrow was dead center.

Reepicheep said nothing. He cried instead.


	3. The Light of the World

**The Light of the World (The Days You Used to Live)**

I never met you

But I know your name and age.

I saw you

In Springtime

You didn't have to

Count your days.

You loved him,

You loved her,

It was a sweet romance.

Then life took,

The joy of the world

Away from you.

You realized far too early

That the world is cruel and terrible

You know that the we are human

And humans they make mistakes.

But who said that innocence isn't bliss

It's the love of all the world.

In Springtime,

In Summer,

The days you used to live.

You grew up,

You loved and forgave

The world again

For their lies, and their old

Clichés.

Saying that love is always new

But love isn't really a complicated.

It's simple and enduring that's what makes

It so enduring.

I remember

The day when

You died and left me here.

You said that the world forsook you

That no one had seemed to care.

That you were alone and afraid

Every day.

That your dreams were all but nothing.

I still dream of you

Do you still dream of me?

We can dream together

The light has shown in darkness

But darkness has not seen it.

I never met you

But I know your name and age.

In Springtime,

In Summer,

The days you used to live.

Go and be just and sincere

Do all that you can and more.

Don't be afraid, sweet Springtime,

Don't you fret, dear Summer,

Just go and free,

Be the person you want to be

And the light will never fade.


	4. PART TWO

**-PART TWO-**

**In Concerning Narnian Affairs Part I**

_**Pre-Prince Caspian**_

* * *

"I do_ not fear darkness, neither should you!"_

Those were the last words Reepicheep would ever hear me say before I died. My death was nothing glamorous or honorable, in fact, it was the lowest standard of bravery or honor that I would ever stoop to in my entire life.

I was never one for wealthy words or brilliant advice. In my final moments I turned to my friend with a smile and said those words, I then leaned back my head and willingly submitted having no qualms or doubt.

Yet, I'm still here.

My name is Tilden Wavell, nothing special really, I am a mouse, which is also, nothing special. I am also Reepicheep's long lost, ill-mentioned brother. Why this is, I do not know. I'm not a criminal or shameful person, in fact, I am rather respected and well liked. I guess the reason my brother doesn't talk about me much is because I left Narnia in search of other places even going so far as to change my name. My Narnian name is Charvep.

I left when I was thirty-seven, which is about four human years (one human year equals nine and a half mice years by the way). It was a war. Something to do. Anyway, about, two years before I left there was a fire, it killed most of us. To my knowledge, Reepicheep and I were the only survivors...

It was midnight, mid January, the snow was piled up high and the fire roared trying its best to keep up. Machenreep, our father and Chief Mouse, was sitting in his chair smoking a pipe, Masren, the eldest son, was chipping away at his spear, making a fine point. I was watching over Reepicheep, who was about a year old at the time, was minding his own business practicing his swordsmanship.

Mother was in the kitchen, her name was completely erased from my memory, it's not that I'm heartless and can't remember, or didn't love her and can't remember, it's that I am psychologically unable to. The closest I can come is a constant, the letter T, which I assume to be the beginning of her name. It is a sad existence to forget your mother's name. Anyway, Mother was in the kitchen. She was cooking a broth, I can't remember specifically what it was but it smelled divine, as if one spoonful could fill you for eternity.

"Dinner's ready!" She called. Everyone except for me entered the kitchen and began eating. I was prohibited to partake. It was all because I did something as my father would say, "Irrational and foolish. You attacked Mr. Marley, a good friend of mine, and he did no harm to you." Mr. Marley, a ferret who lived nearby on the river, was visiting about a week before...

When father left the room Marley went over to Reep and started playing with him, nothing unusable there, until he started whispering things to him. An old ferret's spell that we mice call a curse. I trusted Mr. Marley as a citizen (because my father demanded it), but I did not trust his stories and ways of thinking. He believed that magic was the answer to everything. A potion can cure this, a spell can turn this into that, and all that sort of nonsense. Not to say that magic isn't real, it most certainly is, it's everywhere in Narnia. Even mice are magical, in the sense that we can communicate, for not all mice can do so. Anyway, the trouble with Mr. Marley was that he believed that everyone should have access to it, this magic, and he believed that these people should do what they wish with it. He started talking, and I knew that Reepicheep understood.

"You know Reepicheep," Marley said, walking over to a chair, sitting down in it and ushering Reepicheep over, "there is certain magic in the world. One that you can possess." This was where I turned and started paying attention, I knew where this was going. Some gibberish about how you can unleash the power of fire and ice and wind. "Now I'm not going to tell you that magic is something like love or endurance or faith, it's not. Those things are magical but it's not necessarily magic itself." He said. "Magic in the sense that I'm using it, is the ability to create fire, ice, wind, earth and even space and time from your very paws! A silly idea at first, but rather practical when you use it."

"There you go!" I shouted, pointing in his direction. "You said it right there, a silly idea, you're absolutely right, it is a silly idea," I started walking in his direction, telling Reepicheep to go to the other side of the room, he nodded and did so. I watched him, he walked with a bit of wonder, as if he wanted to know on what Marley had to say. "Now stop filling his head with this lunacy and leave." I said.

Marley laughed, "You talk to me, you're elder in such a manner that you call me crazy." I nodded, "I do talk to you in such a manner because you in fact dear ferret are crazy. I will not let you fill my brother's head with your ridiculous witch poison." I began to usher him out, either he let me or I pushed him. "Charvep," Reepicheep said, "stop pestering him won't you, I want to hear what he has to say!" I turned towards my brother with a slight laugh, "Believe me Reepicheep, you really don't want to hear anything this old fool has to say to you about anything. It's poison to the mind." I continued ushering Marley out the door, "Now come on Mr. Marley, time for you to be off." Just then, father came in, "Charvep, what is this, what's going on?" He said standing in between me and the ferret. "Marley here was just weaving his deficiency sweaters to Reepicheep." I said.

"Oh come now Charvep," my father said, "it's not like Reepicheep can really understand him and by the time he will be able to I'm sure he won't even remember it." I nodded and he left to go into the kitchen to fetch some tea. Marley had Reepicheep under his control again, he must've walked back over to his chair while I was talking to father. He smiled, almost devilish like and touched Reepicheep's nose. Marley's eyes grew a bit brighter, which made me uneasy. I watched little Reep, noticing his natural wise and eager eyes twitch a bit. Once again I removed Reepicheep from Marley's tales, this time picking him up, walking across the room and placing him near the kitchen door. All the while he protested. "Hey, let me go! I'm want to listen!" I smiled, hating to handle him like that, for I personally hate it to. "I know but believe me it's for the best of everyone if you just ignore the old ferret and let father deal with whatever business he has here." I said.

"What's so bad about him anyway?" Reepicheep asked me.

I sighed, hating this question, for it was a relatively long winded answer. Marley followed me. "He will be great." He said. "I have given him a gift that will help him become great, greater than you if you let me train him."

"Gift? Train?" Reepicheep said, getting more anxious.

"He will be a monster if he learns of what you placed inside of him." I answered, turning my eyes towards him but not dare move my head, a sign of disrespect. Personally I didn't care. One look in Reepicheep's eyes gave me all I needed to disrespect this mischievous little ferret. I know, because he did the same thing to me too when I was Reepicheep's age, only there was no big brother to help me.

Masren and my father were out fishing. Mother was there, taking care of me, but she did nothing to stop Mr. Marley from planting a symbiotic nature in me. I have done things that I am not particularly proud of because Marley's so called great gift. There is something that you should know about me before this story continues any further. Marley's magic can produce earth, wind, fire, water, and manipulate time and space but at the same time it alters you, forces you to do things that you wouldn't normally do, like murder for the sake of it for instance. I couldn't watch Reepicheep go through that, I have fought, risked, and lost too much all because of my 'great gift' from this ferret. In fact, to this very day, there are those back in Narnia who still despise and wish me dead for my crimes against them. I will not go into details, for they are not important enough to list. Just know that a certain someone living in Cair Paravel bearing his father's name marked with an X wishes me dead. That's all I need to say really.

"You were always against me Charvep," Marley said, "we never saw things eye to eye." I turned towards him, my hand on the hilt of my blade, ready to do something that should've been done a long time ago. "Murder, lying, and betrayal is not my way of thinking Mister Ferret," I said, pulling out my blade, the tip resting on a pressure point. "but I believe for a moment it will be."

"Charvep stop this!" Reepicheep yelled trying to diffuse the situation.

Marley laughed, still focusing his attention on me, "You're beginning to see the idea." I nodded, "You killed my friends, you forced me to betray everything I stood for, the whole damn country still has me under radar all because of your wizardry!" I dug my blade closer and closer to fatalism. I stepped closer. "You destroyed me, took my very soul, I refuse to let my brother be controlled by your debauchery!"

"What are you talking about Charvep?" Reepicheep asked. I ignored him.

"What makes you think you can prove anything?" Marley said with a knowing devious smile and laugh. I sighed, there was nothing really I could provide as proof. For all everyone knows I went crazy, killed people for no reason, kidnapped someone, killed them and hung them out on the street to dry. All the while people believing that I was also in the service of a madman, a crazy old fool who believed himself to be king. Miraz if I recall correctly.

"I believe you have overstayed your welcome," I said, threatening to kill him. Marley smiled as he spoke one word to me. "Sudo" (which means kill). I arched my arm back, my blade leaving his neck and proceeded with the command. I was completely at his will, but then again, I was going to do it anyway so I didn't try to stop myself, which also would've been a pointless and useless effort as well. Once you're in control, the only way to get your will back is to perform the action or desire requested by the commander and the only person who could command you to do anything was a more powerful magic user that yourself and the only more powerful magic user than me was this ferret.

Reepicheep just stood there helpless, he tried to pull and tug at my waist, shout, do anything to stop me and just as I was about to strike, Machenreep came in with tea, cakes, and finger foods. "Reepicheep will you please stop yelling!" He shouted. When he saw the commotion he about lost his head. Marley whispered the word, "Oda" (which means stop) just as father was walking in between us. Marley let me go but I still continued. I stopped once I saw my father get in the way. I took a knee and submitted myself to him. "You are to apologize to Mr. Marley for your behavior." Machenreep said. I nodded, "Forgive me Master Marley," I said, the usual apology. Marley nodded, "That's quite alright Charvep," he said. He then walked over to a chair, looked at Reepicheep and smiled. Machenreep followed and took a seat near the badger, as they enjoyed a rather boring fishing conversation...

Anyway, I was stuck without food for a week as well as to watch Reepicheep for a month. That was my punishment. Lack of food I handle and Reepicheep I don't mind tending to at all so really this wasn't an issue. I didn't want my father to know this, because if he did then he would make it something ridiculous like sentry duty for the tribe for a year. The one thing I can't stand is sentry duty. It's rather boring, no wolves or giants (they existed back in those days) or any of that sort came near the river and they never will. Mostly because they were all killed off or were driven away during the Great War back in the Golden Age, when the endless winter came to an end but I digress.

Reepicheep looked up at me, innocent and sweetly, not really remembering anything significant about Marley's visit last week except for the fact that he was there. I sure did though, I got a scar from Masren to prove it. When he found out he became raging mad, for Marley was his friend too. Apparently everyone loved Marley except for me.

"Masren," I heard my father talking from the other room. "can you pass the salt?"

Commotion, like the sounds caving in walls and bursting flame. I rushed in and saw standing in the middle of the room, a mysterious shadowy figure standing on the table. He was short and resembled a dwarf. The room was scorching flame, soon the ceiling would cave and the whole place would burn. I didn't have time to do anything except grab Reepicheep, which I hastily did, grabbing his paw, dragging him across the floor and ran out.

When I did so the walls caved, the roof fell, the flames climbed higher and higher, setting the whole forest ablaze. The woodland creatures, the badgers, the foxes, the various birds, and others came out of their homes, looking shocked and fearful. The other mice of our tribe desperately tried to douse the flames with water from the river, and the other animals helped too but nothing worked. Carvash, a badger and old friend of mine came over to me.

" Charvep," he said, with worried look. "What happened?"

"I don't know," I said feeling a bit confused an angry for not knowing the situation, "one minute everything was fine and a figure, a fire dwarf or something, came in and started all this." I answered. "Fire dwarf?" Carvash said a bit confused, "But Charvep, only magic users and conjure up fire dwarfs, you know that." I nodded, Reepicheep looked up at me, a bit confused but stood silent, realizing the time and place for talking and asking questions and hoped that everything would be explained to him in due time. The only thing he did was look around and see the fire, awed, bewildered, and feared by it.

"Can you watch him for a moment?" I asked. Carvash nodded and took my brother for me while I collected my thoughts. I paced, piecing together everything including my suspicions and came with an answer. "Carvash, where's Marley?" I asked.

"Charvep," Carvash said, "Mr. Marley is dead."


	5. Love Alone Is Worth the Fight

_**Love Alone Is Worth The Fight **_

"A boy needs his father."

"Yes, a father who's there for him, you're practically a ghost."

Reepicheep's mother and father had been going on like this for three months. At the moment, they were in their kitchen, which was simple and typical of the area. Large with handcrafted touches, a large sink, a large table with about twelve chairs to accommodate frequently visiting family and friends as well as two children. At one end was a threshold to the living room, on the other were three doors: the left was Tilden's room, the right was Reepicheep's, the middle was the parents.

A small chandelier of candles hung over the table, the flames flickered a bit.

"I promise everything will straighten out when this war is over." The father said, who was sitting in one of the outside chairs of the table towards the sink.

"That's the problem, when will this war be over?" His wife, who was standing near the sink finishing up dishes, looked at him with a skeptical eye and disapproving disposition.

The husband gave no answer, he didn't want to. War was his survival, the mother knew this.

"You live in war Chevrep," she said putting the dish on the counter and turning towards him, "it's your profession. It's what you've always done and continue to do, but you have to make a choice- your family or your brothers."

"You cannot ask me to make that." Chevrep said.

"Why can't I!" She screamed and advanced towards him, "Why can't I ask you to be a father!"

"Because I wasn't meant to be one!" Chevrep replied with equal intensity and force as he stood up.

His wife struck him on the cheek, the burning sensation went through Chevrep's entire face. He looked back at her as if he were about to give an execution sentence. The senior mouse then walked into the living room which was next door and pulled his blade which was currently resting on a rack that was mounted on the wall.

Saying nothing, Chevrep entered the kitchen, blade extended, and advanced toward his wife.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"You dare strike an officer of the realm?" Chevrep asked. "You do realize that it is a form a treason."

"Chevrep please, you're being-"

"Ridiculous?" He said in a mocking way, the mouse smile was lupine as he pointed the tip of his blade to her sternohyoid. The sternohyoid is the thin muscle at the neck that causes speech, but Chevrep wasn't aiming for that. Instead, his target was something for more vital, the sternothyroid muscle, which depresses the larynx and aides in the eating process.

"Do you wish to starve?" He asked.

"You're mad!" She cried.

"You say I'm never there, that I'm a disgrace, that I'm never going to be anything but a warhorse?"

"Because you are! We can work on those things though." She said trying to give the best smile she could. "Hope is not all lost."

Chevrep did not cease his urge, he moved his sword back for his honor and looked at his wife for his sanity. His head was fitting his heart and he didn't realize this. The mother closed her eyes, for she knew that she couldn't say anything to stop him. Chevrep's sword advanced upon her like a wolf does prey, quickly, and without remorse.

When all was quiet again, the warrior stood over the trophy and saw the reason why he fell in love. Her eyes were emeralds, and reminded him daily of his commitments. To be a husband, a friend, a loyal solider, and the one he denounced, a parent.

Tilden and Reepicheep opened their doors due to the commotion. Tilden was older by a year but Reepicheep was precocious. As soon as the latter mouse saw a hint of despair he turned away and went back to his dreams. Tilden stayed and looked at his father.

"Did you see anything?" Chevrep asked.

Tilden shook his head.

"Good boy," the father said, "take care of him."

"Are you leaving again?"

Chevrep nodded, "I don't know how long this time or if I'll be back at all. This may be the last time we see each other."

Tilden walked over to his father and embraced him, Chevrep slowly embraced him back, he wasn't used to acts of love.

"I love you father." Tilden said.

Chevrep replied with the usual response: "I love you too"

After this, the senior mouse mustered all the courage, pride, and dignity he had and exited. Not a word was spoken. Tilden watched his father open the door. A blue light filled the floor. Chevrep walked through the threshold of his door and was gone.

"Be safe." Tilden said to only himself as he made to a storage closet to grab a shovel.

He returned in an hour, the evidence removed, the eulogy said, and the tears fallen. Tilden returned to bed at five in the morning. He would rise in three hours, the same time his father died...

Presumably.

* * *

Tilden was making tea one morning in the kitchen when Reepicheep was coming in from a day of fishing.

"I dread the sound of his key in the lock." Tilden said because he knew that Reepicheep's key was an old one that made a considerable clanking noise as it was being put in the locking mechanism and turned to open the door.

Reepicheep walked through the threshold, in his hand was his blade which sported an impaled salmon. The mouse with the fish walked into the kitchen and removed his blade from the fish and began cleaning it for supper. Tilden just sat, drank his tea, and watched him, periodically humming a tune to himself.

An awkward silence followed as Reepicheep began to skin the fish of scales and carve into the innards, removing the guts and unnecessary muscle to get to the meat. Tilden continued his watching. The chandelier candles flickered a bit.

"I thought you said you were getting trout?" Tilden said.

"I was," Reepicheep replied, "but salmon sounded more appropriate for supper."

"Isn't food appropriate for supper?" Tilden asked a bit confused as to why a salmon was appropriate as opposed to a trout which for some reason wasn't.

"Yes but salmon just felt right to me."

Tilden nodded, still finding it odd but let it slide and went back to his tea.

Soon, the smell of fish guts and entrails became so empowering that it awoke Marian, Tilden's wife of five years, and his son, Solomon, who was turning seven in three months.

"Ugh, Reep you smell like the fish." Marian said as she walked in.

"Well, one does tend to smell like the thing he cooks and prepares." Reepicheep said.

Marian rolled her eyes and sat next to her husband, "Whatever smartass."

Reepicheep smiled and thought, Nice to see you too.

Solomon came in moments later. He yawned and had the disposition of who did not like to wake up at seven o'clock in the morning.

"Can you please stop making so much noise?" He said.

Reepicheep turned, saw his nephew and smiled. "Oh forgive me Your Majesty," he said playing the game he and Solomon invented, "I didn't realize of the fuss, please don't think ill of me."

Solomon turned, saw his uncle and smiled big and large. Instantly he played his role and did so magnificently. "You shall be dealt with later, you told me that it would never happen again!"

"Of course King Solomon, oh surely it will never happen again." Reepicheep said, smiling.

"It also smells terrible in here." Solomon said.

"Well, one does tend to smell like the thing he cooks and prepares." Reepicheep repeated.

"I know, I heard you, you woke me remember? I'm going in the other room." Solomon said as he went past Reepicheep and went into the living room to read one of his picture books.

Reepicheep watched him go and laughed to himself. "Precocious little fellow isn't he?"

"Just like you were." Tilden said.

"Are you worried about that?" Reepicheep asked as he continued his work.

"No." Tilden replied.

Reepicheep smiled.

Tilden finished his tea, he walked back to his room, grabbed some paper and a pen and went back into the kitchen.

"Writing a letter dear?" Marian asked.

"Yes I am." Tilden said.

Reepicheep turned his head towards his brother, "To whom?"

Tilden sighed, rolled his eyes, and said: "None of your business."

The letter was quick, simple, and to an old friend- no more than a page. When Tilden was finished, he put the letter and pen back in his room and re-entered the kitchen once again, this time, not bothering to sit down. Instead, Tilden watched his son read his little book.

"He can almost lift a sword now." Tilden said.

"I know! He's a swift learner, he'll be a fine warrior one day." Reepicheep said enthusiastically.

"You know he can't keep living these fantasies with you." Tilden replied.

"Oh come on Til, it's just a game, besides it's not hurting anything."

"It's making him soft." Tilden said.

"Well, if you two weren't going to instill some humanity somebody had to." Reepicheep said.

"Are you questioning my parenting?" Tilden asked with a skeptical and suspicious look.

"Are you questioning mine?" Reepicheep said turning away from his work, giving a lupine smile.

"I suggest," Tilden said advancing towards him, "that you remember your place."

"And you as well. You may be Chief Mouse, but you are also a father."

"What are you saying?" Tilden asked, not following him.

"You're brilliant at one but dim at another. You can't be stern with children all the time, they're not warriors."

"But they'll grow up to be." Tilden said.

"Just because warriors need skill does not mean they cannot have heart to coincide."

Tilden sighed and retreated back to his chair at the table, "You were always the poetic one."

Reepicheep smiled, "Well, you can thank Aunt Gracie for that."

Aunt Gracie was a respectable mouse who died some years ago. She was a mouse of nurture and pose, someone who had a word for everything.

"Dinner was superb," Tilden said with a smile, "my compliments to the chef."

"Why thank you," Reepicheep replied, "I thought it could've used a bit more pepper but-"

"Oh stop critiquing yourself and enjoy your accomplishment!" Marian said.

"Well, thank you both," Reepicheep said. He stood up and moved to take everyone's dishes, "Now, I'll just take these and-"

"Oh no, you've done too much work today." Marian said, "I can do them."

"No, I insist madam that I finish the job. I started it after all."

"Will you rest for once in your life!" Tilden said, "You've been up on your feet all day and must be exhausted, come here and sit down- I need to tell you something anyway."

"What brought this about?" Reepicheep said as he entered Tilden's room, a room he never been in because he was forbidden to enter it.

The room was simple and comprised of a simple double bed, a nightstand, a dresser drawer hosted a small candelabra, a rug, and a writing desk with chair located in the corner.

"Our conversation earlier," Tilden said, "sit down on the bed, what I'm about to say may produce a bit of shock."

Reepicheep nodded and did so. Tilden took the small chair from the desk and moved in front of his brother.

"There's a reason why mother isn't around."

"She's dead," Reepicheep said with a slight pause, "isn't she."

"Damn," Tilden said, "you are precocious."

"It's a character trait," the other mouse said, "father on the other hand-"

"How did you know?" Tilden said, cutting Reepicheep off.

"Know what, that mother was dead?"

Tilden nodded.

"Do you think I'm stupid? A dolt? A dunce? It isn't hard to tell when someone's gone Tilden, it was hard to know that I wouldn't be able to see her anymore, that she wouldn't be here. And father, what kind of person just leaves his children to suffer through disillusion? You keep telling them that it's okay, that it is completely normal for a father to leave. Father figures die and are replaceable. That's what you've told me my entire life, that father figures die and are replaceable. If that's true then it is a safe assumption that father never loved me anyway."

"That's not true." Tilden said.

"You really think I'm stupid don't you? You expect me to fall for parlor tricks? I know that he did care for me, he didn't care for you and he-"

"Reepicheep!" Tilden yelled and stood up at the same time, "Father loved me, and he loved you too."

"If he really loved you, then where is he?"

"You egotistical bastard," Reepicheep said, "you put yourself before me, and you did so because you know. The whole time you knew and you did nothing to stop it you egotistical bastard!"

Reepicheep cried and broke down on the floor, "Why did he leave? What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing." Tilden said. "He was born in war and he- he died in it."

"You hesitated." Reepicheep said.

"No I didn't." Tilden replied trying to save himself from revealing the real reason why he called his brother in.

"You wrote a letter earlier what was it about?" Reepicheep asked looking over to his writing desk where the note was place face up. Tilden rushed over in that direction and Reepicheep jumped across the bed and tried to race him for it.

Reepicheep won.

"Reepicheep," Tilden said, "before you start reading, there's one more thing you should know."

"What?" The other mouse said, standing on the floor on the other side of the bed, annoyed that his brother was keeping secrets from him his entire life.

"Father killed mother."

"Tilden please, you're being-"

"Ridiculous?" Tilden said in a mocking way, just like his father. "That's what she said too."

"I don't believe you." Reepicheep said.

Tilden nodded slowly and gave his brother a look of sympathy, "Ever wonder why there's a small mound of dirt near the front door?"

"No." Reepicheep answered.

"Ever ask questions when I tell you not come in here, ever?" Tilden asked.

"No."

Tilden walked towards the door. "Ever wonder why I have never told you his name?"

"N- wait, yes. I have wondered about that." Reepicheep said, "What is his name anyway?"

"Read the letter, but if I know you, and believe me, I know you, you will never step foot in the house again." Tilden said as he opened the door, walked through the threshold, and closed it, leaving Reepicheep to the letter and his thoughts.

It didn't take long to read and it didn't take long for Reepicheep to respond either. He exited the room, entered his own, and gathered his belongings which was simply: a fire starter, a container for food, a separate one for water, some small provisions, a first-aid kit, a journal, a pen, and of course, his sword and belt (which he had on anyway) all in a burlap sack. That done, he walked through the living room.

Solomon was half asleep sitting in a chair reading a book entitled Narnian Myths, Legends, and Fables, Reepicheep's favorite.

Tilden was standing near the door and Marian was making her way to bed.

"Uncle Reepicheep," the young mouse said, "can you read me a story?"

Reepicheep smiled, remembering himself at that age, put down his burlap sack and walked over to the chair.

"Veer right," Reepicheep said.

"Keep straight." Solomon finished the phrase as he moved literally to the right of the chair. The senior mouse ruffled Solomon's head furs a bit and sat down beside him.

"That's it. Now," Reepicheep said book in paws, "anything in particular you have in mind?"

"No, you can pick." Solomon said with a yawn.

Reepicheep nodded and turned to a random page towards the middle. "Ah, here we go," Reepicheep said, "this is the story of a centaur."

"Oh, tell it please!" The younger mouse replied with a smile.

"Alright then," Reepicheep cleared his throat and began:

"Long before Cair Paravel or Kings or Queens, there simply the land and the inhabitants that lived there. Everyone, for the most part, lived together peacefully: there was no war, no crime, murder, absentee fathers or-"

"That's not in the story." Solomon said.

"What, I'm sorry-"

"Absentee fathers. That's not in the story, you added it. Read it right." Solomon replied.

"Apologizes, I'm just not myself lately."

"What happened?" Solomon asked.

"Nothing to worry yourself over dear one, just a personal matter."

"Well if it's personal to you, it's personal to me too." Solomon said, "I love you too much." The younger mouse looked down at the burlap sack.

"Are you leaving?" He asked, worry in his eyes.

"For a while." Reepicheep said.

"Why?"

"I'm going to find my father." Reepicheep answered.

Tilden heard this and turned around, listened intently, but said nothing.

"Do you know how long it will take?" Solomon asked.

"I don't know yet Solomon," Reepicheep said, "but I'll be back, I promise."

"You do?" The younger mouse asked, a tear slowly forming.

"May I be dishonored if I didn't." Reepicheep said as he wiped the small tear of his nephew's face. "Don't cry, I'm not dying."

"I don't want to lose you Reep." Solomon said, hugging the senior mouse's neck and crying anyway despite Reepicheep telling him not too. Reepicheep embraced him back.

"You can never lose me." Reepicheep said. "Now," he said letting go of his nephew, "shall we continue with the story?"

Solomon yawned, "We can read it later when you get back." He said. "I'm tired anyway."

"Very well." Reepicheep said and walked him to his room.

Reepicheep tucked Solomon in bed, said prayer, and extinguished the candles. As the senior mouse made his way out of the room Solomon sat up.

"Reepicheep," Solomon said.

"Yes?" Reepicheep asked.

"Thanks for being my guard."

Reepicheep smiled and bowed, "Thank you for your employment Your Majesty."

"Promise me something," the younger one said as he resituated himself.

"What?"

"Can you adopt me?"

Reepicheep didn't answer this question. It hit him in his groin and he about keeled over. He quickly closed the door but managed to get out: "Good night."

Reepicheep gasped for air a moment, and caught his breath. Did he just ask me to be his father?

"Reepicheep," Tilden said from the living room, "are you alright what's the trouble?"

Reepicheep stood up and walked over to him, picking up his burlap sack on the way.

"Apparently," Reepicheep said, "you are."

Reepicheep opened the door and began his journey. Tilden just stood in the doorway. The moon was out, spreading blue hues on the ground and winter was about to begin. The first snow would be in roughly a week.

"Why is that?" Tilden asked.

"Your son just disowned you." Reepicheep answered.

"What do you mean?"

Reepicheep stopped and turned around "He just asked me to adopt him.

Tilden nodded with a sigh, "What am I doing wrong?"

"A boy needs his father." Reepicheep said, " a father who's there for him, you're practically a ghost."

"I'll straighten this out." Tilden said.

"That's the problem, I don't think you will," Reepicheep replied, "you don't know how to."

"Why are you asking me to be a father?" Tilden asked.

Reepicheep's eyes grew large and his temper rose slightly as he advanced. "Because you deserve to be one!"

"No I don't." Tilden said. "You do."

Reepicheep shook his head of his thoughts on the subject and switched gears: "Anything I should know before heading out?"

"Have you figured that maybe he doesn't want to be found?" Tilden asked.

"I have," Reepicheep answered, "but I'm willing to hear him say that. Anything else?"

"Yes," Tilden said, "he's been captured, a prisoner of war."

"Do you know where?"

"No."

"Well then," Reepicheep said, "best be off. I'm serious Tilden," he said, "be the father you need to be. I don't want him to end up like us and argue over stupid conversations like this. It's just not worth it."

Tilden nodded, "Good luck Reep. Veer right,"

Reepicheep took a breath as a cold gust of wind blew in, "Keep straight."

The mouse headed for Trufflehunter's part in company, part in answer, and because the letter mentioned his name.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh good you're here," Trufflehunter said as Reepicheep stood in his doorway, "father's been acting up again."

"What has he done this time?" Reepicheep asked with an annoyed sigh, not really wanting to deal with this matter now for he knew Trufflehunter's father, Mister Marley, was somewhat of a nut.

Marley, in his prime, was a mystic. He was a phenomenal predictor of events and did so with accuracy. The problem came about seventeen years ago when Miraz usurped and became a Claudius. He started screaming a phrase over and over:

"Abate Verge Ye How!"

"There he goes again." Trufflehunter said, "He's been making me rabid with it. Abate Verge Ye How! Abate Verge Ye How! Idiot is behaving as if the world is coming to an end."

"Vexing is it?" Reepicheep asked.

"It's almost sickening," the badger replied, "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Perhaps I could be of service."

"Which is the very reason why I opened my door," Trufflehunter said, as he stepped to the side, "Come inside, it's a bit nip out."

Trufflehunter's abode was quaint, modest, and simple. A fire in the centre, two chairs in front of it, a bookshelf nearby them on the wall, a nightstand beside it, a kitchen on the other side with a small table and chairs, and a hallway down the middle to the bedrooms and wash room.

"Abate Verge Ye How!"

"This way." Trufflehunter lead Reepicheep to the furthest room away from everything. The shadow and lightlessness of the place gave Reepicheep the impression of imprisonment, as if Trufflehunter wanted his father to go insane for his own amusement. Since this question was bothering him so, the mouse turned towards the badger with skepticism.

"You venture into abysses Truff?"

"I'm sorry what are you talking about?" The badger asked.

"Your father isn't damned, just deranged. So why do you have him in a dark corner?"

"It is that time of day when light diminishes Reepicheep." The badger said.

Reepicheep nodded, taking note of the time and nonchalantly, he looked up at the walls and ceilings and into the other rooms of the house also as he slowly made his way to the door.

"Don't think of me as being jocular but I can't find a single fenestration here." Reepicheep said.

"Are you saying that because of a lack of windows I am lying about the state of the hallway?"

"Not lying exactly," Reepicheep said, "more so on the lines of secrecy. Marley is an eremite due to your fear. What exactly are you afraid of?"

"Nothing." Trufflehunter replied and moved to open the door.

Marley, Trufflehunter's father, was a graying badger who most likely had about three more good years left and five horrid ones before he passed. His eyes were unmoving, his pupils completely fixed, locked in place as if forever transfixed by a vixen.

"Who's there?" The elder badger asked, he turned towards the mouse and smiled, "Oh Chevrep, my dear boy it's been so long. How are you these days?"

Reepicheep, who was confused, looked past Marley at something else and said: "I'm sorry sir but I believe you are mistaken for another."

"Abate Verge Ye How!" Marley shouted. "Abate Verge Ye How!" Marley coughed a bit and said it again: "Abate Verge Ye How!"

The badger coughed again, this time more severe, almost asthmatic.

"I'm sorry, forgive me Chief," Marley, "I haven't been well as of late."

The mouse there and played his accustomed position of the aspirant, standing there loyally, waiting for command as if already seasoned for war and taken of innocence. Reepicheep gave a smile of awkwardness but in truth he was assessing the situation at hand.

_Here the prisoner of fear. Whatever Trufflehunter believes to be true most likely is- however, it could be fallacy._

"Father return to bed." Trufflehunter said.

"No!" Marley shouted. "You've kept me in here long enough and I want out!"

"I'm sorry but I can't let you go!" The badger said.

"Why can't you?" Reepicheep said with a hint of disappointment.

"Byron."

Reepicheep turned towards the father, smiled, and said: "Pardon the interruption sir, but you're son is about to have a scolding."

"Go ahead." Marley said, "I haven't been able to do so somebody has to."

Reepicheep bowed slightly and said:

"Gramercy Master Badger."

He closed the door.

"How much of this fear, whatever it is, how much of it is true?" Reepicheep asked.

"All of it." Trufflehunter said.

"Are you saying that an _accidental_ murder sentence needs to be carried out fully?"

"Yes."

"Marley is your father! Don't you see what you're doing? You're castigating him for something he did out of accident." Reepicheep said.

"Byron was my brother, I don't expect you to under-"

"I understand completely!" Reepicheep vociferated. "He was my brother too, believe me I grieved and mourned during the period but afterwards I moved on. If you linger in death you will surely die expeditiously. Don't have him undergo grief- your father wants to be with you! He wants to know you, love you, that's something I would _kill_ for."

"You don't understand Reepicheep," Trufflehunter said, "he did more damage than just murder. He let me know of things I shouldn't have known. He- he told me secrets, secrets that involve-"

"Stop changing the subject." Reepicheep said cutting the badger off before he could finish, "Go let yourself be known, remove the fear of him from your heart, whatever that is, and make just amends and do it while you can! I don't have a father to consult. I don't have someone to say to me: 'I love you' or 'I'm proud of you'. _I don't have that._ I just have you and Tilden, you have a chance to change everything, I suggest you take it."

The mouse opened the door again.

"You are more deserving than me Reepicheep of his smile," Trufflehunter said. "I'll let you go first."

"He is not my father," Reepicheep answered, "he's yours."

Trufflehunter looked into his father's room and saw light emerge from the candles that resided there.

The room was bleak. The chairs and tables were dusty and spider ridden. The bed that was far too small for Marley were stripped of its covers, for they were on the floor, and if a poet were present, he would describe the place as a fallen rose pedal in the middle of a cemetery.

Marley himself was on the bed, feeling depressed and insecure.

"Trufflehunter," Marley said weakly with a cough as Trufflehunter and Reepicheep entered, "why do you keep me in this place?"

"Because you killed Byron." Trufflehunter said.

"I weep every day for him." Marley said with a tear. "I wish nothing more than to turn back time, but Aslan did not give me that ability so I'll have to settle for the present."

Marley looked over at Reepicheep: "Why Chevrep, my old friend you are younger than I expected. Have you been to a wizard? If so, I would like to speak with him."

"I have been to nowhere of the sort Master Badger." Reepicheep said. "I don't deal in that business."

"You're not Chevrep-are you?" Marley said.

"No, I'm not, and if I am correct in my assumptions, then I am his son." Reepicheep answered.

"Chevrep never called me Master Badger. Only by my name. There was respect in first names back then. Nowadays it's all 'Master' this and 'Your Majesty' that. Pompous little bastards- that's what I say to those who speak that way."

"Of course sir." The mouse said with a smile, he learned how to take a joke but he secretly thought that Marley wasn't joking. He wasn't.

"Don't call me sir, just don't add anything to me, I am Marley, and that's all I'll ever be." Marley said.

Reepicheep nodded, making a mental note but then made a side note that it would be extremely difficult for him to remember those conditions.

"So," Marley said turning towards his son, "any news going about?"

"Miraz is beginning to build an army." Trufflehunter said.

"Ah, he'll never succeed."

"He's been successful in the south so I hear." Reepicheep said.

"But you forget that we have something he hasn't." Marley replied.

"What is that exactly?" Trufflehunter asked.

"What have I always told you Truff?"

"That faith is better than one thousand men." Trufflehunter answered.

"It's true." Marley said, he turned towards Reepicheep now:

"Has anyone ever told you that I used to be someone?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you are still someone to someone else?" Reepicheep asked looking at Trufflehunter with a smile.

"No."Marley answered.

"That is also my answer," Reepicheep said, "no one has that to me either."

"If you expect me to forgive him," Trufflehunter said, "I won't do it so easily."

"I don't expect you to do anything Trufflehunter," Reepicheep replied, stood up and in an admittedly impish and disrespectful way: forepaws outstretched in a 't' position, head up to the side slightly with a smile that said _'you deal with it'_.

"You slick little devil." Trufflehunter said masking his true thoughts of: _you son of a bitch_.

Reepicheep stood up, turned towards the badger, thanked him for the conversation and left the room swiftly.

"So..." Trufflehunter said, getting off to a bad start. "How are things?"

Marley looked at his son in a perplexed question. "I've been locked up in this room for ages and all you can say to me is 'how are things'? What a stupid moronic question!"

"Sorry, just trying to make small talk."

"Well," the father said coughing a bit, "you're not very good- at- it."

He coughed again, this time to where he collapsed on the floor and gasped for air. He was experiencing asphyxiation from being in the same room for too long, a lack of fresh air made this room unbearably stuffy for the elder badger and the hot air made it difficult for his lungs to circulate the needed oxygen. Trufflehunter rushed over to his father, turned him over and performed basic cardiopulmonary resuscitation, or CPR. He gave thirty chest compressions in rapid secession.

"Oh no," Trufflehunter said, "you're not dead yet." He tried rescue breathing, counted to three and restarted the procedure.

The elder badger was unmoving, his heart was dormant, he had fallen on the red rose pedal. The raindrop after the rainstorm that falls gently down the window pane, the one ray of light distinguishable in a sea of sun and clouds, the one reason to continue forward for Trufflehunter. For the elder badger, the one he called his father, was the only thing Trufflehunter had in terms of family, sure there was Reepicheep, but he was more of a brother than anything and for the first time the badger admitted that he was wrong.

"Oh what have I done!" Trufflehunter screamed to no one as he did the chest compressions again. "I denied your love for me as insanity, forgiveness is all I ask now but I fear it be too late." The badger performed a last effort to breathe life back into his father.

"Reepicheep!" Trufflehunter blared in distress, still continuing the procedures out of practice despite a loss of hope.

The mouse expedited through the door in response and continued his motion towards his friend. After a two second examination, Reepicheep checked the pulse- it was dormant.

"Truff," Reepicheep said, "he's gone."

Trufflehunter stopped the procedure, and stood up.

"I never felt so ashamed of myself," Trufflehunter said, "we barley started anything and he just- collapsed like that, almost as if it were involuntary."

"Death is involuntary most of the time." Reepicheep said.

"Shame it takes a death to have an epiphany."

"At least you're experiencing one." The mouse answered.

"I guess we better make preparations." The badger said.

"I'll let Tilden know of this as soon as I can," Reepicheep said, "I'm sure he'll want to be there."

"I would be insulted if he wasn't."

Trufflehunter and Reepicheep walked out silently, saying nothing more, leaving the room of the elderly badger alone to grief for itself.

"Truff," Reepicheep said as he took a chair in the living room, "what do you suppose the time is."

"I'd say it's roughly three o'clock in the morning." The badger said with a sigh.

"Are you tired yet?" The mouse asked.

"No, not at all, with the father business and everything and I believe it is rather rude to leave company unattended when it is not their house." The badger replied going into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

"I noticed your satchel," Trufflehunter said, "where are you bound."

"I honestly don't know," Reepicheep answered, "wherever my father is I guess."

"Your father?" Trufflehunter asked a bit surprised that Reepicheep would go after something so obscure as his father. For the badger knew a great deal about him and for the better part of their seemingly lifelong friendship, the badger tried so hard to keep the topic of Reepicheep's father out of conversation.

"Want a cup of tea?" The badger asked.

"That would be most generous of you." Reepicheep said.

"Crème, sugar?"

"Both if you please." the mouse said, "Do you need some help with it?"

"It's tea Reep, not necessarily a conundrum."

The badger walked in with a tea tray filled with tea, a few cakes, with crème and sugar on the side.

"This was more than just a visit wasn't it?" Trufflehunter said grabbing his tea and fixing it to his liking.

"Of course it was." Reepicheep said, grabbing his tea for a moment, drinking it black and sitting it down quickly. "I came because of this."

The mouse pulled out the letter which was stuffed in the sack and handed it to the badger. Trufflehunter read it carefully.

"Yes," Trufflehunter said, "I was wondering when this inquiry would come around again." He sipped his tea and sat it down. "Come then, I need to show you something."

Trufflehunter lead him back to Marley's room. On top of the wardrobe in the corner was a large black suitcase. The badger reached up, grabbed the suitcase and carried it to the kitchen with Reepicheep close behind. Once there, he laid it on the table, unlocked it but did not open it.

"Now, what you are about to see," Trufflehunter said, "is something that only my father and I have seen. This is classified information, things that were left out of the court room for your father's sake. I do not know where this evidence came from but father assures me that it's true."

"How does he know? He could be lying to you." Reepicheep said.

"Reepicheep, it's my father, I think I can trust his judgment, he was a lawyer after all."

"By the way this conversation is starting I can already tell where this is going." Reepicheep said.

"Believe me, no you don't." Trufflehunter said as he placed his forepaws on the latches, "Ready?"

The mouse nodded, the badger opened the case. When Reepicheep looked inside he shook his head, backed away in fear, tears slowly began to form.

"Oh Truff you brave soul how could stomach this!"

"Who said I did?" Trufflehunter asked. "I bore the same expression too."

"What brought this up for you?"

"I asked about it one day." The badger said. "Father told me everything."

Reepicheep looked towards his friend: "How innocent were you?"

"I'd say it was about the same time when your father left for good, a bit before perhaps." Trufflehunter said.

Reepicheep nodded and glanced back at the box again, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Trufflehunter rushed over and grabbed a pale and placed it near the mouse on the floor.

"Tell me everything you know," Reepicheep said, "but please close the case, I cannot bear the sight of loss anymore."

Trufflehunter nodded and did so.

"You must understand Reepicheep," Trufflehunter said, "that your father was secretive. Very, very secretive. He knew so many of secrets and had so many of them that even the wolves feared to speak to him for fear of exposure. He was also, an agent of the state, employed by-"

"Miraz?" Reepicheep asked, hopeful that it was the usurper so that the mouse could walk out of this hoping that his father was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was forced into something. That's what he wanted to believe anyway. That his father was a mouse of dignity, a mouse of honor, one that would do anything for his family-even risk his own moral foundation to see them live.

"No, unfortunately," Trufflehunter said walking back to the tea tray, " it was Caspian IX."

"The _ninth?_" Reepicheep asked a bit surprised.

"He had many enemies Reepicheep-"

"Do you mean to tell me that my father was in service to a king who saw his own people as enemies?"

"Yes." Trufflehunter said taking a quick drink of his tea, "At least in one light. We don't know the whole story, anyway, did Tilden tell you anything?"

"He said that he was a prisoner of war somewhere." Reepicheep said walking back over to his chair that he sat in before but not bothering to sit.

"Oh he's a prisoner of war alright, but he's _our_ prisoner."Trufflehunter said.

"I'm assuming you mean the rest of the resistance against Miraz?"

Trufflehunter nodded. "He has been for years, tried to continue his escapade a few times too. He almost killed me and my father once but then remembered who we were. He said that he owes a great service, because even though Marley didn't win his case, he was thankful for him. A pact was made, uniting our families in aid and brotherhood but it doesn't mean much now I suppose."

A drink of tea again.

"Your father was good at heart but not in the head."

"Good at heart?" Reepicheep said distraught, "He smelled burning rubber and heard the bursting of the heart from extreme heat. The blood boiled, the bones cracked, and those who were still breathing, had only deafening screams of sorrow covered by gas poison. He followed the hellish sounds for that was his career and found a pit of dead, naked deformed bodies twisted about themselves like devils. They are stretching out their hands to heaven, but heaven would not receive them. My father _is_ the Beelzebub of this situation. He practically held the fucking door open for Miraz to come and take over. How can you justify your means, that my father was good at heart, when he butchered children in their sleep? Their dreams interrupted, forever unfinished. Their foreheads dry from a warm kiss. Their sheets on their beds lay cold and barren now and no one mourns for them. The mothers are dead, the fathers are deranged like Marley was and the children suffer slowly, wither, and die with the mothers. Is this the world we live in now? Where that is an answer to a problem? If my father is on who you say, then I repudiate and wish great cancer on him."

The badger stood up and slapped the mouse hard on the cheek.

"You dare strike me like a dog?" Reepicheep asked with the same fury as his father.

"I'm sorry but you were talking out of your head." Trufflehunter said calmly.

"Really? How much out of my head was I!?" Reepicheep shouted. "I think your evidence proves your claims of my father's decency null."

Trufflehunter nodded and sighed: "I should've just kept my mouth shut."

"Yes," Reepicheep said, "you most certainly should have. Is there any more nasty business or are we to be on good terms because at the moment, you are starting to look very much like an incubus."

"You accuse me of treachery when I've told you nothing but truth!" Trufflehunter exclaimed, "I have always been your foster and faithful aide-de-camp!"

The badger advanced towards the mouse, feeling both insulted and betrayed.

The next thing Trufflehunter said would be a question that if were asked again, Reepicheep would answer something along the lines of 'Absolutely nothing' or 'he was my abettor so it gives me no reason to not trust him with everything.'

"What makes you think that I will ever mislead you _in anything_?"

"The simple fact that you did. You've been hiding this from me my entire life and only now when I inquire about it you relinquish it? Has it crossed your mind once before this?" Reepicheep asked.

"Yes it has." The badger said. "But each time I grew more and more against it."

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't matter!" Trufflehunter shouted. "Your father doesn't matter Reepicheep. You've been without him your entire life and are perfectly fine on your own. You don't need him anymore."

"Did Marley ever tell you that he loved you face to face?" Reepicheep asked.

Trufflehunter nodded. "Of course back before he went crazy."

"You had a father, you knew him at least for a little, I never knew mine. I never once been told what love was, what I meant to someone. Tilden doesn't count, he's supposed to tell me that sort of thing every day. But my parents never explicitly said the words 'I love you' in secession when referring to me. It was always broken up by something else, usually an excuse for behavior along the lines of: 'I simply just can't believe you did that Reepicheep, you almost killed me for the love of all humanity we have raised a boorish son.' That's about the closest thing I have ever gotten to those three simple necessary words that are so vital to the spirit. I never received that socialization and I probably never will."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything." Trufflehunter said.

"No, you had the right, for I am a guest in your house." Reepicheep replied.

"If it's important to you," Trufflehunter said, "then who am I to say anything else about it."

"There was a letter that my brother wrote mentioning you. Said you had supplies ready for my father. Care to explain that?" The mouse asked, after a moment of indulging in his tea.

"I'm helping him leave the country." The badger said.

"He's a murderer." Reepicheep said..

"No, he is your father."

Reepicheep sighed with a heavy heart, stood up and pulled his blade on his friend, "You do realize that this is a form of moral treason to be an accomplice of a felon?"

"I do." Trufflehunter said. "But that was then and this is now. He's changed Reepicheep, and he loves you, he told me so himself. He said that he regrets everything he ever did and that he never wanted to hurt you."

"I think you're just covering yourself." Reepicheep replied and placed the blade at Trufflehunter's jugular vein, an inevitable fatality.

"Reepicheep please, you're being-"

"Anticlimactic?" The mouse asked.

"Well I was going to go for ridiculous," the badger said, "but your word is perfectly alright with me."

"Says the badger who locked his father in a spider closet."

The badger looked at him with a cold unforgiving expression. "You accuse me of playing jailer to my father but see no immoralities when you wish to play executioner to yours? How is that in anyway different?"

"It is entirely different." Reepicheep said. "I'm going to find my father, let him tell everything to my face and let my moral compass decide next."

"Your chivalry that guides said moral compass is astoundingly naive." Trufflehunter said. "Naivety mixed with misguided chivalrous efforts, last I checked, leads to false bearings on the compass leading you miles off course."

"You're making an enemy of me badger." Reepicheep said, realizing that his blade was still at the badger's neck. "Don't think I won't do it."

"Even though you forsook my name just now, I could have never asked a better friend to do so." The badger said as finished his tea, stood up, walked to a clear spot on the floor, kneeled down and submitted. Reepicheep followed and his blade resumed position.

"If you wish to do so then do so," the badger continued, "end me, send me off, complete my journey and me make a profanation in time but do me one kindness if you do so-"

The badger paused, he figured that if these were to be his last words to Reepicheep then he might as well make them summarize everything he ever wanted to say to him:

"Never do so again."

Reepicheep looked at his friend, who hinted a smile of forgiveness and understanding if he chose to go through with it, a loyal advocator who stood at the ready in defense for him and his family always. Someone who was just trying to make things a bit easier to bear was about thirty seconds from no longer being there for him. To vouch, the grief, to mourn, to succor.

The mouse remembered one particular creature from a story he read known as the phoenix. The mythical bird who could rejuvenate itself from the ashes after death. Looking upon Trufflehunter the mouse knew that his friend was not a phoenix, but simply a badger and that if he did decide to do so then Reepicheep would never be able to continue living with himself.

"Done." The mouse said and sheathed his blade.


	7. All the Fear You Know

_**All the Fear You Know**_

"I don't suppose you'll reconsider my offer."

"As much as I would love to accompany you, I believe my duties lie in planning a funeral."

Trufflehunter was gracious enough to let Reepicheep spend the night and after a morning tea and biscuit Reepicheep stood in the badger's doorway and said:

"Do not despair. The fault lies not with you."

"Yes it does Reepicheep," the badger replied, "if I only would have-"

"Done more, loved more, conversed more? All of these are fetches to say when bargaining. If he looked at you with forgiveness, then all is forgiven." Reepicheep answered.

"I wish I could believe that." Trufflehunter replied.

"Why don't you?"

"Because I-"

"Don't diminish yourself again!" The mouse shouted, "I refuse to stand in the doorway of someone who pities themselves."

"But it is my fault that he's dead Reepicheep!" Trufflehunter replied walking towards him," It's my fault. I'm going to have to live with that for the rest of my life!"

"You shouldn't blame yourself."

"But I do!"

Reepicheep sighed heavy, "Those who live in the past must also live with death and decay."

The badger nodded and began to turn to his affairs: "Good luck Reepicheep, I pray you find your father soon."

The badger grabbed the supplies he was preparing in a bag and handed it off.

"Perhaps you could use these," Trufflehunter said, "no use to anyone if it sits around."

"Gramercy." Reepicheep replied as he placed the supplies in his own burlap sack.

"What does that word mean anyway- gramercy?"

"That word dear badger," Reepicheep said with a smile, "is all we need to say when we have learned everything we have come to know."

"Are you implying that we are scholars studying and examining the ordinary?"

"I'm implying dear badger that we were made for somewhere else. We are searching for feelings and emotions that are impossible acquire here: happiness, joy, love. If we can find the quintessence of these then we shall have to look no further."

"If you find such a place, send for me." Trufflehunter said.

"Why dear fellow, you're walking the road that leads there, just keep walking!" The mouse said with a smile. He waved and continued on his way eastward.

"Reepicheep!" A voice called.

"Come about!" The mouse answered.

Nikabrik appeared as if he were running a marathon and has fallen victim to fatigue.

"Come...quickly."

"What is it?" The mouse asked.

"Best you see it for yourself." The dwarf said and quickly led the mouse to the trouble.

* * *

Genocide befell him for along the river bank, the bulk of his people lay dead. Reepicheep and Nikabrik took a walk, examining each cadaver and paying respects.

"They died by fire burns."

"Fire burns you say?" Reepicheep asked trying to keep his composure and noticing that Nikabrik was himself a bit burned.

"Yes sir," the dwarf said, "the Telmarines came in and burned everything. They all managed to get out but as you can see-"

"They burned alive. What a terrible way to go." Reepicheep said a tear forming.

Nikabrik sighed and lowered his head, "I'm sorry Reepicheep," he said, "I did what I could."

"I know Nikabrik." Reepicheep turned towards the dwarf, giving him a look of indifference:

"I know you must have charged in and finally be the hero you always wanted to be. I bet you feel pretty damn good about yourself don't you?"

"I don't understand, what are you-"

"I'm saying that you did absolutely nothing to help them!" The rodent cried. "My kin is dead, I don't blame you for that but you could have at least given a sacrifice."

"Well what did you want me to do? Throw myself in and die?"

Reepicheep didn't answer. He just walked down the line.

He passed old friends of his from childhood, grandparents, friends of the family, and every form of relation. He knew them all, especially the children.

Whenever he reached one of them he would close their eyes, kneel reverently and say:

"May you rest easy."

Eventually, Reepicheep reached his doorstep. He wanted so badly to open the door and discover that the place had not been touched, that his family was still alive. But he didn't knock on the door. He didn't need to.

"Tilden," he said, "I've never been so sorry."

His brother lay dead face down in the dirt, his back was unrecognizable. The fire had claimed his identity but Reepicheep knew without question who he was.

"The last we spoke," the mouse said kneeling, carefully turning his brother over so he could see his face.

"I questioned your parenting, saying that you were mentally inadequate to face the truth- that you were absent from Solomon's life. I have come to the consensus that you were not meant for him. You did not father him, you fathered me and thus were meant for me. You steered me towards your son and I was too blinded by the title of 'uncle' or 'brother' to see that. I do not regret my words but I do regret my deliverance of them."

He paused and controlled himself, he was beginning to tear up. After a moment of silence, he looked up at the sky and descended to anguish, pleading, and bargaining.

"I am confused, enchafed, and ashamed. Please have the mercy to reveal me peace. I beg of you, reveal me peace! I cannot live without it, my heart yearns for comfort. I cannot sleep knowing that he died because of my misunderstanding. I should have been there and wasn't. I should have died with them. Please, reveal me peace, for if I find none, then I will assuredly die!"

Reepicheep sighed, closed his brother's eyes and kissed his forehead and gave the last rites:

"The darkness and disillusions of this world pass away, the light and inspiration of the next shall overtake you. May you never fall from there, and if you do, let me lift you up."

Reepicheep stood up and saluted his blade. "Fly on justice. Fly on."

Nikabrik walked up behind him when the moment had passed.

"They're heading north, if you hurry, you'll be able to catch them."

"I cannot seek vendetta," Reepicheep said, "it is against my conscious. Besides, I haven't found everyone yet."

"Who are you missing?" The dwarf asked.

"Solomon- if illness befall him, I doubt I'll survive the grief."

"Don't talk like that." Nikabrik said, "Keep the faith that he's alive for now until it's certain."

Reepicheep nodded, "Quite right, let's begin looking."

They searched the river bank. Up and down and up again. When the sun began to hit midday Nikabrik began to give up.

"Reepicheep, let's face facts, he's gone."

"I refuse to believe that Nikabrik, there's got to be somewhere we haven't looked."

"Where is there left to look Reepicheep?!" The dwarf shouted, "We've searched the bank, we've searched the river, we've searched the houses, the bank on the other side and the bloody trees. Where are we supposed to look?"

Reepicheep shook his head, "I- I don't know. But I'm not giving up on him until I find him."

"You're wasting your time."

"I'm finding my nephew who is my son. Either you help me or you don't and if you don't then be gone and then let me grieve and then let me die."

Nikabrik nodded, "So be it."

The dwarf left the rodent to himself. Reepicheep listened to Nikabrik's footsteps, they were quick and uneasy. The mouse turned back. Rage, feral animalism, and devious desire took the rodent over as he quickly followed. Nikabrik ran as fast as he could, knowing that at any moment, Reepicheep would catch up to him. He jumped over fallen trees and stormed through undergrowth behaving like a race horse. He would never run this fast again in his life.

When the dwarf got a considerable distance away he stopped to rest by a large oak tree that had a large root that curved up into an arch and down back into the ground. The dwarf rested in the shade of the arch's shadow.

"Let's...see..him try...that."

"Alright."

Nikabrik looked up and saw the mouse atop of the root looking very peeved.

"I have half a mind to let you die Nikabrik." Reepicheep said as calmly as he could.

"Now, now Reepicheep, let's not jump to conclusions here." The dwarf said scrambling to his feet.

"I believe the conclusion dear fellow is that you suffer from murderous psychopathy and are by definition an accomplice of genocide. Now," the mouse said wielding his blade, "I will give you time to explain yourself for I am not heartless but I'm afraid your time is very limited. Go!"

"Well you see, I was being blackmailed by the-"

"I don't very much care." Reepicheep said, "Get to the confession part please."

"Alright I did it, I killed your family."

"Thank you." Reepicheep said and threw his blade at the dwarf. It stuck him in the neck, the dwarf fell on his knees.

The mouse jumped down and landed perfectly on Nikabrik's shoulder. "Now I'm not going to kill you, for I will not stoop to your levels, but answer me this: where is Solomon?"

"I don't know. They didn't tell me much."

"I assume you mean-"

"Miraz, yes, he blackmailed me sir, said if I didn't do it then he would kill everyone."

"Why take such a risk?" Reepicheep asked.

"Your father is very important to him Reepicheep, he needs him now more than ever." Nikabrik said.

"My father no longer follows him."

Nikabrik laughed, "Been listening to Trufflehunter again?"

"He's your friend too, or at least he used to be." Reepicheep said.

"What do you mean, _used_ to be?" The dwarf asked, a bit confused.

"Don't think I won't keep this from him."

"I don't expect you to, but just because your family is dead doesn't determine my friendship status with him."

"Actually," a voice said, "I think it does."

Trufflehunter emerged from the trees, carrying a bow and quiver on his back and a satchel on his side.

"You've been a very busy dwarf haven't you?" The badger said, smirking as readied a bow. "I believe an execution is in order."

He pulled on the drawstring.

"No Truff," Reepicheep said, "murder is never an absolute."

"But you _just said_ that he committed genocide!"

"Yes," the mouse replied as he removed his sword, "but he wasn't alone in the deed." He jumped off the dwarf's shoulder.

Nikabrik winced and grabbed his wound.

"I'm sorry," the dwarf said, "I know those words aren't right but that's all I can say."

"That's all anyone can and will say when death arises." Reepicheep said turning back towards him, "I'm sorry."

The mouse advanced towards him, not bothering to get close and personal. "Don't take my sparing your life an act of forgiveness Nikabrik. I will never forgive you. If you come near my door I will turn you away, if you so much as go near that river I will personally hunt you down and skin you alive. If you so much as breathe the same air as me, I will, without question, remorse, or rites, end your life. As of this moment, I disown you of my sword. May the wolves feast upon you. Or better yet, let the crows do it."

"Why the crows?" The dwarf asked.

"Crows devour everything, and they don't do it quickly either."

Reepicheep left but before he disappeared, Nikabrik said:

"I buried those I could. I know it may be damned of me to say but I loved your family. Every single one of them."

"There was a time when love meant having great veneration." Reepicheep said.

A stern look in his eye developed as his shoulder was beginning to freeze over. He turned towards the sunlight, sighed a moment and resumed speaking.

"There was a sense of pride, poise, honor about it- when it meant something beautiful. Now love is tantamount for annihilation. I suppose whenever we cry we'll have you to thank- for breaking our hearts and stealing our capability and comprehension of love. Tell me are there any other words of value you would like to change? Chivalry, Honor, Bravery, or Reverence perhaps? Those are choice words, adept words, words that can mean anything now that love is dead. Are we to live in world where everything is antithesis? Love is murder, murder is benevolent, benevolent is cruel, cruel is worthy, worthiness is dead along with chivalry which is cowardice and cowardice is admired. What kind of world is that Nikabrik? Narcissistic anarchists are the harbingers of war. They always carry a lit match."

"You're breaking my heart Reepicheep." Nikabrik said, crying over his actions.

"Don't you dare grieve for it be not your place!" The mouse cried in rage. "You didn't lose everything this morning!"

"I lost my soul Reep," the dwarf, said, "it died with the fire. You might as well just kill me. For everything you say is true. I'm a coward, a murderer, a worthless waste of time. I'm sorry for the trouble. I don't expect you to forgive me, I do expect you to kill me though."

Reepicheep shook his head. "I won't give you satisfaction."

"Then let me grieve and then let me die." Nikabrik said.

The mouse nodded, "As you wish."

Reepicheep and Trufflehunter were silent as they walked away, they wanted to hear Nikabrik's heart break.

The dwarf cried and sat in this state of pity for three hours.

When Reepicheep and Trufflehunter returned to the badger's burrow that day, Nikabrik passed away. The last words he said were:

"Tell him I'm sorry."


	8. Chapter 8

"Read it back to me."

"I am sorry to report that I am unable to fulfill the duty requested of me on the account that I have been captured, tortured and interrogated by insurgent forces. I'm sorry but you'll have to find the information on your own. Your son seems like a nice boy."

"Good, send a raven to him."

"You're an owl," The reader of the letter, Aurelius, a general in Miraz's cavalry said. "why can't you deliver it?"

"Because," the owl said, "I'm stuck in this fucking cage!"

Kashmir, or to be more specific than that, King Kashmir, was a great horned owl of normal proportions, that is, sixty-three centimeters high with a nearly five foot wingspan. His feathers were a deep mahogany, and lovely sable with tufts of hoary for highlights. His eyes were gold vermilion, his beak was ebony and his talons were taupe.

"I've been in this fucking thing for seventeen fucking days! I'm fatigued, miserable, dehydrated, it's like Black Dolphin all over again."

"I don't understand that reference but enough with the curses. You make a sailor want to cringe."

Kashmir reached for his iron bars of solitude with his right talon and clenched it. The bar shook and bowed down to his mercy. The only thing that was keeping the owl constrained was a single shackle and chain. The chain was around his left talon which was connected to a tree and the cage itself was connected to a branch on said tree via chain. He was about five feet off the ground.

Aurelius, who sat on a log with the short letter, stood up nonchalantly with a tinge of uneasiness for he heard the bar submit and was fearful of the same force coming down on his skull.

"If you could do that," a voice said, "then why didn't you leave?"

"I didn't leave," Kashmir replied, "because I didn't necessarily have a choice, whoever it is that is speaking to-"

The voice's owner revealed himself, smiling as he came behind Aurelius.

"Chevrep!" Kashmir cried with excitement, "Oh thank the lion's mane you're alright. I thought you were dead."

"Dead," the mouse laughed, "what have they been filling your head with?"

"Lies apparently, but- where were you, weren't you captured too?"

"I was, by the same group, they kept us out of sight of each other-for a good reason."

"In any case, it's great to see you," Kashmir said, "now, do you mind lending an old friend a hand?"

"Sorry I'm afraid I can't do that Your Majesty." Chevrep said, "politics and all."

"Politics?" Kashmir said a bit confused, "The only political issue here is me. I've been hogtied and tourutred by my own supporters because of you. I did this for you!"

"Yes," Chevrep said smiling a bit, "and what a splendid job you did too. What was your plan exactly? Getting me out of this country and smuggle me into yours? I'll be dead anyway."

"No you won't." Kashmir said, "I'm the King remember, they'll listen to me."

"They'll kill you." Chevrep replied, "I'll laugh when your people abandon you too. Do you honestly think that they'll give a damn about an outsider in the end?"

"Chevrep, this isn't you. Come on, stop talking out of your head and get me out of here!"

"Aurelius," Chevrep said, "you know what to do."

The captain nodded and produced a scalping knife.

Kashmir fidgeted a bit, "Chevrep, Aurelius, what are you doing?"

"Nothing personal Your Majesty," Aurelius said, moving a bit closer, "politics and all."

"What are you doing?" Kashmir's face turned fearful. If there was one thing he despised it was tools of destruction.

Aurelius grabbed the cage and shook it violently, the bird cowered in fear.

"Oh," the captain said, "is the King afraid of death?"

"No," Kashmir said, "I'm just afraid of killing you."

Aurelius reached in slowly and carefully, "Now, just relax, this isn't going to hurt a bit."

The bird brutally grabbed Aurelius's wrist with his talon. The man winced and tried his best not to scream. Kashmir pulled him in, "You just to have honor, what happened to it Aurelius?"

"War." Aurelius said struggling to breathe. "Thanks for destroying my hand."

"I used to call you Marcus," Kashmir said, "do you remember that?"

Aurelius dropped his knife. "Yes," he said, "I remember that, now can you please let me go."

"Promise me something." The bird said keeping his eye on Chevrep who slowly began to scale the tree behind the cage.

"What?" Aurelius asked.

"Never do so again."

"Never," Aurelius moved his hand a little, trying to circulate what little blood there was left. "do what again?"

"Bargain with the devil." Kashmir released him.

Aurelius fell over, landing on the ground desperately trying to hold his hand together which was a mauled cadaver. Blood spewed out in spurts and the overall pain was astronomical.

"Kashmir," Aurelius cried, "I told you it was nothing personal!"

"What was it you said," Kashmir looked at him, "politics and all? This is the 'all' part."

Chevrep entered the cage as stealthy as he could, he wielded his blade.

"Are you sure about that?" Kashmir asked.

"Yes," Chevrep said stopping, "I'm sure about it."

"What exactly," Kashmir said, grabbing the scalping knife, "do you plan to do moi droog?"

"If I told you that I would spare you," Chevrep said, "then I would be lying."

Kashmir turned around towards him, weapon in claw. "You know that this," he waved the knife, "is a dishonor?"

"A dishonor!" Chevrep laughed, "You are the dishonor Kashmir. The bastard son of a bastard."

The owl moved his knife toward the mouse, micrometers from impaling him.

"Ambitiously daring are we?" Chevrep said laughing, more despicably this time.

"This isn't you Chev," Kashmir leaned down more to his level, "where is the friend I once knew?"

"Dead and buried with the fire," Chevrep turned his gaze southward towards his house, "I hope."

"The fire," Kashmir said, "was an act of malice! Was it from your heart?"

"I beg your pardon?" Chevrep asked, playing the idiot.

"Don't be coy with me mouse!" the owl cried, "Was the fire from your heart?"

"If you're implying that I wished it upon my kin then you are sorely mistaken."

"Was that from your heart too?" The owl asked, "Your mistakenness of self? Was that from your heart, or was it from your head, trying to play a manipulative game of chess?"

"You're talking like a nobleman Kashmir." Chevrep said, "That most certainly isn't the fire I knew in you many years ago. I guess the mannerisms of your position have grown on you."

"You have guessed correctly moi droog." Kashmir answered.

"Funny," Chevrep said as he jumped onto the knife, unafraid of it, for he had conditioned himself to withstand pain, "how you associate that phrase with me." He raised his eyebrows condescendingly, "Moi droog."

Kashmir reverted to his nature. He bent down and attempted to devour him. The mouse however was well adept to this situation and stuck his blade up in the air and slashed Kashmir's beak. The bird cried in pain, dropping the knife and backed up all the way to the iron bars.

"What's the matter?" Chevrep said, advancing toward him, "Afraid of a mouse?"

The King did not answer. He simply took a moment to think about his next move.

What does Chevrep hate more than anything in the world? He thought.

"Well are you going to do something or just-"

The owl lifted his wings in a heraldic rising position and beat them against the cage floor generating a deafening high pitched frequency. The cage shook in fury Chevrep gave in and submitted, covering his ears and pleading that his friend be merciful.

"It was all business!" Chevrep said. "I never meant to-"

"To denounce my love for you?" Kashmir stopped his taunting. The cage stopped moving. "Chevrep, I loved you like a brother. I came to rescue you."

"Why?" The mouse asked, "I don't need saving."

The owl advanced, the chain clanked ghoulishly against the metal, "They were going to execute you. I knew I wouldn't be able to bear that."

"Well, your sacrifice has been for nothing." Chevrep said, confidence regaining. "I am happy where I am, in my position and in my country. To be honest Kashmir-"

"It's King to you, you arrogant piece of shit!" The owl bent over, his vermilion eyes searched for the answer. He cocked his head as if he were performing a thorough examination. "There's something in you, something sinister."

"Really?" Chevrep said hinting sarcasm, "Let's see if this rings a bell. De fumo in flammam."

The owl grabbed the mouse's neck and screeched, the leaves of trees blew from the branches, the earth cracked and the new tectonic plates were formed. As the earth shifted around into uncertainty, Kashmir's brow furrowed deeper and deeper to the point where Chevrep thought that his jugular would burst. His eyes burned with passion, his voice a deep thunder.

"How dare you threaten me with death you fucking swine!" He screeched again, the world grew silent and still again.

"Kashmir, your spectacle only makes my reasoning stronger." Chevrep said. "You think that I was simply employed by a king who thought his people were against him?" He laughed, "You don't know the first thing about politics do you?"

"I know," Kashmir said, "that you're in way over your head Chevrep. You do realize that if you send them here, they will consume the world."

"Which is why," Chevrep said, "you're going to do it yourself."

"What, send them over?"

Chevrep nodded, "You see, you've negotiated with these people before, they'll listen to you, just like you said. It is your Kingdom that they're living in after all. What is the place called again, Tu'Famaren?"

"If you think that I'm going to allow the destruction of the-"

"Oh, I believe you'll have no choice." Chevrep said.

"Why is that?"

"You'll figure it out Kashmir, in the meantime," the owl loosened his grip, the mouse took advantage of the opportunity, "you'll just have to bleed!"

Chevrep stabbed Kashmir's left talon, the blade went clean through. Kashmir screamed in pain and buckled down, letting the mouse go. Chevrep then scaled the back of the bird and proceeded to scalp him.

"You know it's a dishonor!" Kashmir cried, pleading with him to stop the pain. Chevrep ignored him, he just continued slicing feathers away and then the sawing started. Kashmir's brain functions began to go, his eyes began to close, his will to fight had diminished but his screams of mercy were carried with the wind.

The King was dead...presumably.


	9. Chapter 9

The high moon coated the canopy of the forest in a lush indigo. The ground was slightly darker, more of a sapphire than anything. A comfortable wind from the south blew in as Reepicheep and Trufflehunter walked north towards the camp.

A hunting fox scurried by.

"Serene isn't it?" asked the mouse, after the fox passed, "That the world takes a breather at night. Gives you time to reflect."

"Yes," Trufflehunter replied as he habitually kicked some dead leaves, making a rather calm rushing sound, similar to that of a river. "time to reflect on the fact that we're stuck out here."

"Why are you always such a downer?" Reepicheep said as they passed a tree that van Gogh would be proud of. "No one likes a pessimist."

"No one likes a grandiloquent either." The badger stopped his leaf kicking and occupied himself with shadows of tree branches, noticing how eerily they resembled reaching hands.

The mouse looked over to his friend, admiring the way the light reflected off his fur making him almost angelic. The only things missing were wings and a halo.

Trufflehunter pushed on ahead, leaving the mouse to himself.

"I still see the frightful cub who fears rain." Reepicheep thought as he looked toward Trufflehunter, seeing the light cascade onto the earth gracefully into splotches. The malignant trees reached out toward the badger. The mouse followed, going gently into that good night.

A robin situated himself in his nest and a woodpecker quietly preformed some woodwork. Trufflehunter resumed his leaf kicking.

"Do you remember that time when we were kids," Trufflehunter said, "and there was that big storm the time you visited?"

Reepicheep nodded, laughing as he did so, "Yes! It was spectacular. Your father was trying so hard to calm us down and whenever thunder or lightning hit, we'd scream and he'd say-"

They both chimed in, "It's only rain!"

"After that, we would blame the rain on everything." Reepicheep said, still laughing, "The house fell down because I accidently sliced a support beam. 'The rain did it!'"

The badger smiled, "You were locked up in your room for three months with no supper."

"Well, it made something out of me." The mouse answered.

"Something of a recluse if I remember correctly." Trufflehunter said.

The mouse playfully hit him, the badger laughed.

"Rather un-sensible don't you think," the badger replied, "to blame your mischief on rain."

Reepicheep laughed inwardly, "Well, of course it was. Think about it, we were children, and most children aren't sensible in blame. By the way, my mischief, pun intended, was never good at keeping me out of trouble."

"Ha," the badger said with sarcastic indifference, "species group joke."

They jumped over a tree root.

"Say," the badger continued, "do you remember the time you thought I was dead?"

"Well to be fair," Reepicheep said, "you were laying on the floor motionless."

"I fainted from a ghastly sight Reepicheep," the badger replied, "that was all."

"You never told me what that 'ghastly sight' was."

Trufflehunter sighed, regretting his mentioning of it. A hunting fox made the mistake of sneering too soon causing Reepicheep to very nonchalantly place his right paw on his sword hilt and partially unsheathe it. The fox moved on, thinking it best to not get in a bloody mess at this time of night.

"It was my neighbor in the process of love-making." The badger said when it was silent again.

Reepicheep laughed, "In broad daylight or at evening?"

"In broad daylight. Not only that, but it was so passionate that they began rolling around in the dirt and almost into the river. I couldn't look away, I know I should have but I just couldn't. Two lovers getting on the horse like that at such speed and-"

"Alright," Reepicheep said, "enough with your perversion."

"Anyway, after I fainted," the badger said, "you came in and started to perform CPR. Luckily you only had time to compressions."

"Yes, that situation would have been extremely awkward." Reepicheep replied as he slowly rotated his thumb up against his fingers in a counterclockwise motion.

The leaves began to waltz slowly in the wind, the trees applauded. The moon rose a bit higher as a storm from the east began to move in. Thunder sounded, lighting illuminated the darkness. For a moment, the world was no longer translucent in its deeds, but rather it disclosed everything from present to past to future.

"A storm's moving in." Trufflehunter said. "We best find shelter."

"Still afraid of rain are we?" Reepicheep asked, noticing that his friend bolted ahead into the forest.

"I just don't like being caught in it Reep," the badger said, reverting to all fours and turning back his head, letting his medical satchel rest on his back.

"besides we don't know how bad the storm is going to-"

He stopped.

The wind and the trees waged war against the clouds, who came with such defiant force that the thunder shook the ground and the lighting destroyed the badger's orientation but his courage was also gone, but it did not flee from the might of the storm. But rather, the might of a swinging, squeaky, eerie cage.

Trufflehunter's paws grew clammy, his eyes grew wide with fear and his heartbeat slowed to a dismal crawl. His energy depleted, he could not cry for assistance.

The cage swayed back and forth in the wind. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. A pendulum of malice charging the storm on, encouraging it to engulf the place with sorrow and resentment.

A cold chill ran up Trufflehunter's spine, forcing him to submit to the ground, curling up in a ball- astraphobia was kicking in.

"It's only rain!" The badger said, closing his eyes, as if that would fix the problem.

The storm advanced, carrying a sword.

"It's only rain!" The badger repeated, tears falling down as his body began to shut down in fear. The badger closed his eyes.

"It's only rain Trufflehunter," an angelic voice said. "it's only rain."

The badger opened his eyes, seeing the trees damn the storm back into hell but the storm came on, destroying all hope and signs of love. The malicious beating of the world was going against the pact made and in this sacrilege, the voice spoke again.

"Remember what I said about rain?"

Water soaked the badger's back and ran down his face, trickling off it, forming a small waterfall. The badger stood up weak kneed. The rain masked his tears.

"You said to never fear it, for it's natural for rain to fall out of the sky. It's as natural as grieving." Trufflehunter said, voice trying to outdo the storm which sounded its thunder and showed its lightning.

"You think you can beat me!" The badger shouted.

The wind howled in defiance. The general rallied his troops and charged. The storm pushed on, giving all it had to show the world something that was never understood.

"You think you can kill me! Go ahead, I dare you!"

The lightning struck the earth, the thunder screamed wildly for someone to understand his predicament. The wind and forest continued their protest, ignorant of the wise storm who wanted nothing more than to be a raincloud.

"You can't best me!" The badger cried in a single breath, his lungs screaming.

"Trufflehunter!" A more familiar voice called out. "It's only rain!"

The badger laughed hysterically, hallucinations began to swirl in his head.

Visions of sprites, fireflies, and gold vermillion colored leaves started to dance in circles. The wind gathered into a vortex, periwinkles sang their swan songs and the sun appeared. The voice who spoke before answered: "It's only rain!"

"Damn this rain!" The badger shouted.

"Damn this infernal storm!" Trufflehunter looked back with bloodshot eyes and a disdainful heart as thunder roared some sense and lightning instilled some enlightenment.

"Why did you have to die so quickly!" He stood up and began to wage war.

The thunder retaliated with a pleading yell, lightning continued with epiphany encouragement. The rain however, just kept on beating the badger down with the force of hail, the common sense motivator. A trifecta of grief counselors.

"Curse you and you're damned wind!" Trufflehunter shouted, noticing that the wind was pushing against him. "Why did you have to leave me here alone!"

"Who said you were!" A familiar voice shouted.

The badger turned and saw Reepicheep, who loyally stood there waiting.

"I'm in the storm too." He said.

"Your father didn't die this morning!" Trufflehunter said, tearing streaming down again. "I didn't say goodbye to him," the badger advanced, this time the wind cooperated. "I didn't have the chance to love him."

"That was your fault!" The mouse raised his voice over the storm but the badger knew that even if it wasn't raining, Reepicheep would still be yelling at him. "You denied him the world!"

"He killed my-"

"It doesn't matter Truff!" Reepicheep said, still screaming. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact that we're still in rain."

Thunder, lightning, and wind continued their constructive abuse. All the rage in the badger boiled to te brim, but instead of cursing the world he screamed. It was long, hard, and full of regret. To Reepicheep, this was the saddest state he had ever seen him.

As the badger was about to submit to grief, the mouse placed a hand on his shoulder, signifying the end of misery and the beginning of a healing.

The badger out of pure emotion and shear need, embraced the mouse with all the love in the world. Reepicheep, who was not fond of being handled or unexpected embraces, made this one exception, understanding that hearts break easy, but love is a good tool to fix it with.

The storm made peace with the wind and both proceeded to their own affairs. The wind blew innocently, the storm passed on through, and the leaves tumbled to their beds.

When all was quiet and the emotions had died down, the mouse and badger got their bearings.

The ground was charred, defiled by fire and consumed by war. Grass lay black and dead like martyrs, pieces of tent frames were discarded to the side like foundlings and a scrap of parchment with illegible writing lay underneath the still swinging cage. A chain, the weight of the world, moved slightly- a ghost who was never put to rest.

"Has the storm, and furthermore, your screaming, stopped?" A voice asked.

"Yes," Trufflehunter said, looking around, "the storm has passed. Sorry about the screaming."

"It's alright," the voice replied, the chain shifted again, as if it were being turned over, "not like I was going to get some sleep anyway."

"Where are you?" Reepicheep, who was near the base of the tree with the cage, asked.

"Up in the cage."

The mouse looked up and saw the metal gallows. Even though the wind was absent, the cage slowly began to sway and spin in a slow counterclockwise pendulum-sque motion.

"Mind if we come up?" The mouse asked.

"Be my guest." The voice answered.

The mouse, who was followed by the badger, ascended the tree. The bark was wet and difficult to grip but they managed to get up to the height of the cage fairly quickly. The mouse jumped first and cleared the bars easily. The badger jumped a bit short, dangling a bit before pulling himself up. Then came the unspeakable silence.

Rain water slowly began to hose off the blood on the floor, slowly forming rivers and seas. Feathers haphazardly lay across the sea like a straight of impassable rocks of a long forgotten civilization. Something to fear but something to inspect with wonder. At the end of the sea toward the end of the world, lay a dying, dishonored owl.

His wings were tattered and ripped to shreds, behaving like wet paper. The once beautiful strong mahogany and sable feathers that adorned his back were frayed at the ends, as if they were each individually burned at the tips.

The face was that of Quasimodo: destroyed and demonic. The right eyeball dawned a haunting and blinding scar that made his once vermillion irises of nobility seem unimportant. If a King's status were won solely on the magnificence of the eyes, then Kashmir would lose.

A crown of blood adorned his head, and his skull was bleeding so profusely that some of it was standstill, a diseased swamp.

His beak was no longer impressive and his talons were no longer sharp or regal, but rather dull and uninspiring. To be frank, Kashmir Zolnerowich, for that was his true name, was the pinnacle of failure and self pity, living up to his informal title: The King of the Forsaken West.

"Has the rain stopped?"

"Yes." The badger replied, "The rain has stopped."

"Good," Kashmir said, "Mstislav didn't like rain either."

The owl lifted his chain and shifted around so he could see his new conversationalists better. He did this slowly to minimize the pain but nonetheless, the owl winced. When he was settled, Kashmir looked at them, specifically Reepicheep.

"So, you've come to make sure I was dead?" The owl asked.

""Why would I want to kill you?" The mouse replied.

"Don't give me that shit," Kashmir said, glaring at him, his gashed eye ironically improved his intimidation skills. "I know what you're trying to do here." He placed his wings on the bent steel bars and hoisted himself up slowly rising like the Kraken.

"Sir," Reepicheep said, standing across the sea trying his best to keep his composure. "be civil."

"I'm tired of being civil!" The owl screeched and moved his chain around like a bullwhip. The cage shook wildly, as if still in the storm. The creaking increased, threatening to break and plummet to the ground if this abuse continued.

Kashmir raised the chained talon again, this time, aiming directly for the rodent, who still stood there composedly.

"You betrayed me!"

"Really," The mouse said, jumping into the air as Kashmir slammed the chain down against the floor again.

"what's my name then?" Reepicheep landed.

"Chevrep" the owl answered.

"Try again." Reepicheep replied. He moved a bit closer, stopped a moment and placed his paws on the chain. He shuttered a bit from the cold wet steel and moved his fingers up and down a single chain link.

The chains of war and fear. The mouse thought.

Reepicheep looked at the owl with shameful eyes, as if he has caused Kashmir to be placed here. The owl in turn, looked at the mouse and noticed how gentle his eyes were. They carried the right amount of innocence and an overabundance of compassion and concern. The eyes of someone who understand what pain was.

"My dear boy," Kashmir said, "I couldn't be more sorry."

"Who did this to you?" Reepicheep asked, not wanting to believe his premeditated answer.

"Chevrep." Kashmir answered, this time with a voice more disheartened, tragic, as if the repetition of the name produced a deeper scar than the one on his eye.

A tear fell. From where, Reepicheep couldn't accurately place, but he presumed it to be in the most sincerest of ways, from Kashmir's heart. It was bleeding, crying, and begging for forgiveness or some type of mercy.

"You are Reepicheep, I presume?" Kashmir asked, looking at the mouse more kindly.

"You have presumed correctly." The mouse answered.

"How's Tilden?"

Reepicheep couldn't answer that. He knew that physically he could, but mentally he was at the crossroad of grief and sheer madness. His brother played his father and his father the villain, and although Reepicheep gave rites and honors, he could not escape the natural feeling of sadness.

"How did it happen?" Kashmir asked, figuring out Reepicheep's silence.

"The same way it always happens. Fire, bad luck, and fish." The mouse answered.

The owl nodded, he knew what that meant, some form of malice.

The wind blew a bit, the cage swayed as water from tree leaves began to fall on their heads.

"I suggest," Trufflehunter said with a yawn, "that we all get some sleep. We'll figure everything out in the morning."

Reepicheep moved to the left, Trufflehunter to the right, and Kashmir stayed where he was. The bird watched his new companions situate themselves in a bloody mess with no qualms,. This made him smile and laugh a little.

"What's so funny?" The badger asked, just as he was about to close his eyes.

"Nothing badger, just-"

"It's Trufflehunter."

"King Kashmir." The owl answered. "Now as I was saying-"

"Wait," Reepicheep said, opening his eyes and getting up rather quickly, "you're a King?"

Kashmir nodded. "Well, not anymore. As of this morning I am no longer King of the Forsaken West."

"Since when was The West forsaken?" The mouse asked.

"Since about three years ago." The owl said. "Ever since-"

He looked out into the night and noticed the moon had returned to its rightful place. The blue indigo reclaimed the forest, as well as the hunting fox, the waltzing leaves and the applauding trees.

"Ever since my son died." Kashmir said, continuing to look up at the moon. "He always loved the moon. You could say that he had an affair with it. He said to me: 'One day, I'm going to fly up there, away from this place. Away from war, from grief, from pain, but not from you. I'll take you with me. To the stars and back and to the stars again. That's where we'll go father, to the stars and back and to the stars again.'"

A tear fell from his scarred eye, he exhaled his grief and reached out for his son's dream. Touching it ever so gently, unable to grasp the beauty of it: the moon, and its power of dream fostering.

"Those were the last words he said to me before I-"

"Before you killed him." Reepicheep finished his sentence.

Kashmir nodded, "That's why I am forsaken, that's why my people are forsaken. That's why I'm here! I'm here to die. To pay for my crime which was done without reason. I don't even remember why I did it. I just know that I weep every day for him. I wish nothing more than to turn back time, but Aslan did not give me that ability so I'll have to settle for the present."

Trufflehunter looked at him, seeing not an owl in blood and chain but his father. "Has anyone ever forgiven you?" The badger asked.

"No one has ever forgiven me of anything," Kashmir answered. "I was betrayed, me, a King, by his own people."

The badger and the mouse bowed low in respect and backed away as far as they could. Kashmir sighed in annoyance.

"You can stop with the pleasantries." The bird said.

The badger and mouse stood up.

Trufflehunter walked towards the chain, placed his paw on a link, and stroked it slowly as if in deep thought.

The blood on the cage began to dry and the sky became a bit lighter. In three hours the sun would rise.

"I do not know your name, your history, or your political administration but I do know that a your resignation would be the end of hope for me." The badger said.

Trufflehunter looked into the owl's vermillion eyes, getting lost in his face, which was no longer fearful but instead, was welcoming and yearning for some understanding.

Reepicheep stood now and looked at his friend, smiling and looking a bit proud. He heard the last part of this speech before.

A water droplet fell from a leaf and landed perfectly on Kashmir's face, mimicking a tear.

Trufflehunter smiled "It's only rain."

Kashmir nodded and looked up at the sky again and playing the loyal parrot he said, "It's only rain."

The moon was out and the trees released more water excess. The fox quitted his hunt for the night- he retreated to his burrow.

The leaves resumed their waltz. The trees applauded.


	10. PART THREE

**-PART THREE-**

**In Concerning Narnian Affairs Part II**

_**Prince Caspian**_

* * *

"Can we please talk about something else!?"

"Afraid not, remember, you were the one who got me into this….Well, say something!"

"Give me a moment will you?"

Trufflehunter stood in thought. All the while his dinner, a salmon, was about to burn in the cooking pot.

"In five seconds your salmon will be ruined."

"Well," the badger said, "then it won't be my fault now will it Reepicheep?"

The mouse sat down at the badger's kitchen table. He was visiting on the grounds that his fiancé had passed recently and the badger was kind enough to let him in.

Trufflehunter went to his food, removed it from the fire and noticed that it was smoking black.

"Well," the badger said, "that's ruined."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

Trufflehunter walked the pot over to the table carefully, trying not to spill anything, noticing that over in the corner, on a table near a chair, a candle flickered.

"It must be that time of night." The badger said. "The candles are dying out."

"One candle flicker dear fellow doth not dismiss the day. Just as one supper mishap doth not ruin ones appetite."

"Well," Trufflehunter said, "the wicks do last only twelve hours."

"And supper an hour."

"There's nothing left to sup on!" The badger cried. "What are we supposed to do, eat charred fish?"

"There is such a thing as night fishing." The mouse said.

"Well aren't you extremely optimistic."

"One should be in times of crisis," Reepicheep replied, "better than being a pessimist, which brings me back round to our conversation: what happened to Kashmir?"

"Again, if I were to tell you it would kill you."

"I would much rather die being au fait than oblivious to this matter Truff, now if you don't mind..."

Trufflehunter nodded. His eyes wandered to the shelf with the dying candle. On said table was a letter.

The badger stood up, retrieved the letter and gave it to his friend, not bothering to resume his seat.

Upon reading it, the rodent's whiskers dropped, his face was morose.

"If you'll excuse me," the badger replied, "I believe I shall retire."

Trufflehunter exited the room and walked slowly down the hallway.

"You'll miss supper." The rodent said rather dismally.

"Honestly," the badger said stopping and turning his head, "I don't think that is priority concern at the moment."

Reepicheep folded the letter and placed it on the table in a reverent way, behaving as it were sacred.

The mouse stood up and turned towards the door and for a moment said nothing.

"What are you thinking Reep?" Trufflehunter asked.

"I'm thinking," Reepicheep said heading towards the door, placing his forepaw up against the wood, "that you won't see me in the morning."

"Where are you going?"

"His grave." Reepicheep said.

"That's at least three days journey."

"Which is why," the mouse said, "you won't see me in the morning."

Trufflehunter looked at his friend, noticing that he was the quintessence of grief. The badger walked down the hallway, opened a closet and fished out a small emergency bag. Non-spoiled food, small assortment of medical supplies, a blanket, a knife, a water container, a food container, a small lantern, matches, some flint and magnesium, and a journal and pen.

He placed said bag on his person and walked out.

"Is this paranoia or precaution?" Reepicheep asked after seeing the satchel on Trufflehunter's back as he shut the door to the house.

"Is both an answer?" The badger asked.

The mouse laughed, "Not a particularly mentally sound one I'm afraid."

They walked onward.

* * *

"To be honest with you Kashmir, I don't give a damn if you live or die."

"I'd figure you'd say that."

Miraz smiled and turned towards his partner in crime, Ambrosine. "You did very well my dearest."

They embraced and kissed with passion.

Kashmir rolled his eyes. "Get a room you two."

"Shut up you!" Miraz yelled stopping for a moment to turn towards his guard who had the feather stripped bird tied up with rope. "Take him away to a prison cell for now. He'll be our entertainment for our reception."

"As you wish sir." The guard replied and escorted Kashmir to a prison cell.

"You know," Kashmir said as they entered a long mile of grim light and depressing steel.

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes I do Kashmir." The guard said.

The guard drew Kashmir behind him. The bird's talons which scraped against the cobblestone floor echoed through the hall. A small fly buzzed around Kashmir's nose, he blew it away.

Aurelius, the guard, got out a key and opened the cell door.

The hinges creaked and Kashmir noticed a small window big enough to fit through.

"Don't even try it." Aurelius said, "If you escape we'll shot you down."

"That will be a blessing." Kashmir replied and entered his confinement.

It was small, cold, damp and depressing like all cells were. Kashmir waddled over to the cell door. Aurelius removed the bonds. Kashmir flapped his wings a bit to stretch them out.

"It's a shame," Aurelius said, "you are a beautiful owl."

Kashmir smiled the best he could. "Thank you Aurelius, that means more than the world to me."

Aurelius nodded slowly. He looked slightly to the left towards the staircase that lead to the throne room.

"I don't blame you for all this." The owl said.

"You don't?"

"No! I slept with the woman and was foolish enough to love her." Kashmir looked up at him, his eyes deep, focused, as if he is ready to commit himself to death. "You're just doing your job."

"I'm sorry it has to be this way." Aurelius replied, "I just couldn't-"

"Aurelius, you've been my friend for years, if this incident is going to end it then we have a lot of things to discuss." Kashmir said smiling, this time more informally. "Can you do me one last request?"

"Of course." Aurelius replied.

"Write a letter to my friends explaining the details," Kashmir said, "hold nothing back."

"I'll be back with pen and paper, anything specific you want?"

"Yes," the owl said, "at the end of it, after the explanation, say 'the struggle is not in our freedom but in our understanding that we were already free to begin with.'"

Aurelius nodded and walked up the staircase, thinking to himself: the true words of a brave soul.

Kashmir sat on the floor, the fly from earlier came back around again, this time landing on the tip of his beak. The owl snapped the sharp mouth like bone together, consuming the fly in a single breath. After this, Kashmir laughed quietly to himself.

Aurelius returned moments later, pen and paper in hand.

"Apologizes if I'm not a good scribe." Aurelius said.

"I have confidence in you moi droog."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," the guard said smiling, "you're from Russia."

Kashmir smiled and did a small bow with his wings outstretched.

"Ready?" Aurelius asked.

"As much as I'll ever be." Kashmir said. "To my brothers in arms, don't not think ill of me when I say that I haven't been entirely too faithful..."


	11. A Mouse to His Sword

_**A Mouse to His Sword**_

Thou loyal sentry of my stead

Who always kept me well and fed,

Till injured gravely in the head.

Mend thee up, I shall do so,

Broken leg, it shall heal,

Thou art honest and full of zeal.

My joyous bane who calls me sheik

Thou are more the wiser, and never meek.

Voice of thunder, fear in the sky?

No need of worry, nay! Say I.

I let you go on your merry way,

Carpe diem, all through the day.

When the sun hath set,

Thou at more eager,

To seek off new ventures.

I put thee to bed,

Yet still you fidget,

To ward off the beasts inside mine head.

Do it, be done!

Then off to sleep.

You make dryads work so difficult,

Thou art restless in art

Of making sons weary,

Keeping me up,

In the morning, I'll be dreary.

The face of thee, shine onward,

Thy spirit, grows on me ever fonder.

When duty calls,

I shall raise the alarm,

We march ever onward,

To seek the yonder.

When all the work

And duty be done,

Feast thy eyes on setting sun.

Rest your head my loyal friend,

And seek the shelter of thy bed.


	12. Look Ahead

**_Look Ahead _**

Siphon-Samuel awoke to the shadow of outside prison bars and a piece of cloth down his throat. His hands were tied with a small rope and his weapon of choice, a rapier, naturally, was stripped from his service and cast out into the unknown wilderness. Looking around his small metallic fortress, he wondered how long it would take for him to die from asphyxiation.

_Five, ten minutes at the most._ He thought. _I'm sure that ol' Reep will be the first to mourn and the last to grieve. That's how he was with father, Alfaxion, and Ceres, and it's how he'll be with me. He'll weep, go to Mathias and descend into depression for a month or so, then he'll come back around with his usual optimism. That's his process and it is quite extraordinary. He is the only person in the family who has a conscious, because he grew a heart first instead of a head._

Siphon attempted to move his tongue around to see if he could force the gag out, but alas, the tongue was too suppressed by the cloth, which was stained and smelled of urine, that nothing could be done. The Mouse tried to move his paws around but the rope was tied in a too tight of a knot for him to decipher how to untie it. His tail desperately tried to pick at the rope to see if there was an entry point for it to loosen the grip of the rope. Alas, it did not work. So the tail tried wrapping itself around its owner in an effort to remove the gag. It searched for a grip on the cloth, found it, but realized that it was too short to pull. The tail sighed a bit in frustration and wished it had a voice to call for help, but it was just a tail and could only do so much.

Siphon rested his body and eased his mind. There was nothing stopping him from reaching the end.

_I have reached the end. I have fought my war and won, for in me lies a victory for Him. For I refused Him once and then a second, and yes, even a third, but as I stand before decision- to live or to die, it is not difficult. For if I choose to die then I choose to live, but, if I choose to live, then I simply die and I cannot submit myself to that._

His breathing slowed and he closed his eyes. As weakness overtook him, The Angel No One Wants Around entered the small cage and gently picked him up. As The Angel was about to leave however, he heard a distressed voice call out.

"Siphon!"

The voice called again, the second time it was louder and more worrisome. The Angel, who was Death, looked down at the soul he carried in his hands and with the assistance of Compassion, allowed for a final meeting. As the owner of the voice approached the cage, seeing it from a distance and wondering what it was the cage was there for, his heart became heavy and his mind furious at the implementer.

Reepicheep traversed through the dead leaves and passed under the threshold of the cage. He instantly stood and cut Siphon's bonds with faineance via his blade and very quickly removed the gag, tossing both of those aside like a child does a toy he no longer has interest in.

Siphon looked up at his brother, smiled and breathed a moment. "I always knew you'd come for me."

"Were you expecting anyone else to?" Reepicheep asked.

Siphon laughed and nodded slowly, "Do not look back. Look ahead."

"To what?"

The elder mouse said nothing, and neither did Death who reached down and took Siphon by the hand and into the warm embrace he so longingly dreamed of. Reepicheep, who saw this, did not shed a tear as Siphon expected he would. He smiled and waved instead and Siphon smiled and waved back.


	13. The Kings of the World

_**The Kings of the World**_

* * *

Mathias Trufflehunter woke up at six thirty and departed his little burrow at seven with a small satchel on his back. Rushing through last night's snow and sticking to the tree line, he secretly argued with himself the reason for his lateness.

_You slept after two o'clock, again. Now she's going to suspect something went wrong. What's a viable excuse? Drunk? No, you never drink. Injured? More believable but there's no blood on you. Forgetful? Well, that's actually true._

As he trekked, the small satchel complained on how horrible its predicament was. For it was built for travelling on a horse, not on the back of a badger in the middle of winter in several feet of snow. It wondered, as all satchel's do perhaps, what was so important about its contents. For the satchel knew that this _thing _it carried was not suitable for anyone- not a King, a Prince, or even a malicious vagabond. The only type of person this _thing _was suitable, valuable, or worthy for would be a mangy good for nothing wolf, and considering that the satchel looked around and saw no such beast around, it simply settled for carrying this rather stupid _thing _to wherever his master was taking it. Personally, the satchel thought, it would be better just to leave the _thing _on the side of the road than to deliver it. Saves both time and grief.

Trufflehunter, who could hear nor read the satchel's thoughts, climbed over the snow, for he practically sunk to the bottom of it, and trekked from there on a height that would normally be three and a half feet above the ground. He passed by the houses that the birds had built so well, seeing that blue jays and robins had kindly offered to rent a space for ferrets who had nowhere to go and he wondered where the brook was that ran so beautifully and still at this time of year. For it froze over only rarely and even in thick snow the water could be heard as if spring were whispering it's longing to return. As he walked to his destination, which was his parents' house, Trufflehunter thought about all the possibilities for the inevitable conversation.

When he turned at a place which would usually be a bend in the brook and a boulder that had no business being there, Trufflehunter ascended a small slope and discovered that the stone pathway that lead to his parents' humble abode was disinterred from the heaping snow in a way that was much more enjoyable and interesting than a simple straight path. For the way to get to the door now consisted of a gentle slide of snow with the pathway remaining the same save for the flanks of snow that went over the badger's head.

Creeping up to it, not necessarily knowing what to expect, he said nothing and listened to a world glossed over in an artist's winter. The trees were sleeping, their voices silent as their boroughs stood weighed down and their dreams frozen in their heads like the bark on their bodies or the roots at their feet. The birds sang no songs, for the time for singing is reserved for spring. All of nature reverted back to déjà vu, while all Mathias thought of was: _it's simply winter_.

The Badger made his way down to the door and surprised to have it opened after the first knock and was even more surprised to see a dear friend standing in the doorway.

Beaming at him as if he had been away for twenty- years, Reepicheep looked up and quickly stepped to one side to let the Badger through.

"I was beginning to wonder when you would come." The Mouse said smiling a bit, closing the door once Trufflehunter was in and out of the way. "Conveniently enough, I was just about to leave to fetch you."

Trufflehunter crossed the room to the table, which was a large, custom made cedar piece built for thirteen. Marley, his father, who sat at the head of the table with a dinner plate and glass in front of him, looked up at the only son he did not disown and the son he inherited with a smile. "So the prodigal sons return."

"How many times must I tell you," Reepicheep said as he resumed his place at the table next to Naomi, Trufflehunter's wife. "I am not your son, merely a family friend who has a room in your house."

"Oh come now," Naomi replied, coming back from her thoughts of which to eat first, the salmon or the spinach. "You're as much a brother to Mathias as you are to me."

"Yes, but brothers don't necessarily turn up missing for seven weeks, come back a day and leave again." Reepicheep stated, turning to the party of three confused as to why they were misunderstanding something incredibly simple. "It just isn't right to call me brother or son to you when I'm rarely ever here."

Mathias rolled his eyes as he prepared himself for supper, looking over the meal and admiring the care the chef, whomever it was, took to prepare it and make his plate orderly and presentable. "Does that make me not my father's son then?" Mathias asked. "I live no less than half a mile away and rarely ever come here either but you don't see him behaving as if he isn't loved anywhere. Come, let us bless the food and eat before it turns cold."

* * *

The meal was divine- the salmon was cooked a bit too long and the spinach perhaps a bit dry but it was all in all a grand supper that filled their stomachs. Mathias stoked a fire in the fireplace, and Reepicheep took care of the cleanup, while Marley and Naomi sat quietly in the two comfortable green chairs that overlooked the bookshelf engraved so beautifully into the wall.

Mathias crouched down on the rug that was probably only still there because it was original to the place. A shadow of its former self, the rug, much like the satchel which sat next to the fireplace, thought its current predicament rather strange. That a group of badgers now took ownership of it for instance, was perhaps the biggest reality check the rug has received in years. It saw the likes of dwarfs, satyrs, imps, sprites, and other creatures of grand power and authority- never once was it master to creatures considered vermin by some and harmless to most. The satchel meanwhile, wanted so much to fidget around and get that loathsome _thing _out, and then to heave itself straight into a warm soak, for to say that the satchel was a germaphobe would not necessarily be out of the question.

"Well," Reepicheep said upon re-entering the room and taking a seat back at the table. "All the dishes have been cleaned, dried, put away, and I've also taken the liberty of checking on the Hallam- not to worry, he's sound asleep."

Naomi turned towards the rodent and smiled both in shock and gratitude, for she knew her child well and understood that Hallam, like most infants, often liked to wake up at inconvenient times. Being a new mother, she often wondered what it was she was doing wrong in terms of getting him back to sleep- trying everything from lullabies to warm milk with little to no success.

"Why, thank you Reep," she said, "I am generally impressed, for no one, not even Mathias can get Hallam to bed, may I ask how you managed to do it?"

"Unfortunately there is no methodology to parenting," Reepicheep answered, "for if there were then we would all be the same and life would be horrendously dull. However, I've always find it helpful to sing a lullaby."

"I've tried that," Naomi replied, leaning in a bit extremely intrigued in the conversation as her husband stood from his pyro management and sat on an ottoman. "Nothing seems to work, isn't that right, Mathias?"

Mathias yawned and nodded, stretching his arms via reaching behind him as far as he could go. "Putting that boy to sleep is like wrestling a bear to the ground with your bear hands. It's futile. I doubt it will last. He usually begins to cry after an hour or so and it's right back to square one again."

Reepicheep looked the badgers over and noticed how exhausted and aged they were, despite the fact that he was younger than Mathias by a year. _Both of them appear to be seventeen years older than their true age, it was as if birthing and siring a child has become the very thing that will kill them. That, or they're simply too pessimistic and see no end to sleepless nights of little nightmares and endless days of living them out. Should I tell them that it's just a phase in a series of phases or wait for them to find that out for themselves? To think, if they're stressed out about something that they themselves did not actually do, imagine how they'll feel when I tell them the news I've brought with me._

"Which lullaby do you choose?" Reepicheep asked.

"_Sir Lionel_." Mathias answered.

"Well no wonder the poor fellow can't get any sleep! You're singing him a song about killing a boar that will eat him alive!" Reepicheep said standing up from his chair and shaking his head at the pathetic choice of a song and even worse how calm his friend was about it. "Have you considered_ Castle Dromore _in its original tongue?"

"Oh not that dreary thing!" Naomi cried with a disdainful eye roll, "My mother used to pride herself on her ability to sing that one and she did so every night for seven years. It worked."

"If it worked," he said, turning towards her, "then why despise it?"

Naomi laughed, "It's my mother we're talking about Reep."

"I've never had the pleasure," The Mouse replied as he walked back to his chair to pull it closer to everyone so that he wouldn't feel so alone or left out. "Perhaps when spring comes I shall get a chance."

"Oh I'm afraid you won't be able to Reepicheep," The female Badger said, "the poor thing is thankfully dead."

_Well that's rather morbid. _Reepicheep thought, _Still, best get on with it. _The Mouse shifted himself in his chair and turned towards Marley who was asleep in his chair with his mouth hanging open, snoring louder than a cave bear. Reepicheep laughed a little and stood up to stretch.

"Well," he said with a slight yawn, "I believe I shall go to bed myself. I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?" Mathias asked.

Reepicheep said nothing and yawned again, "Personal business, Truff, that and I need to tell you all something that may be a bit of a shock."

"Can't you tell us now?" Naomi said, "I'm not good with suspense."

"Afraid it requires Mister Marley's attention," Reepicheep answered. "Now," he said turning to them both, "sleep well, I shall see you in the morning."

"Wait just a moment," Trufflehunter said, "you said you sung that lullaby in its original language?"

Reepicheep nodded, "Yes, I did."

"Are you telling me that you are versed in Narnian?" Mathias asked, impressed and scared at the thought that his friend spoke a language that was as dead as the autumn leaves that populated the ground.

"I know Milandish too, but those are stories for the morning." Reepicheep said as he waved a goodnight and crossed the room, quietly entered the hallway, and entered the guest bedroom.

It was small with not much in it, but it was enough for him. A bed on the far left, a bookshelf to the far left a nightstand placed awkwardly in the middle and a rug that covered the floor. There was no window. As he made his way into that particular bed for the third time in a row, he felt the need to say goodnight to his family who was not even in the room or in the world anymore.

Despite having three friends in the living room who treated him like family, Reepicheep felt utterly alone. To combat this, he hummed to himself the sweet song that he mentioned earlier and as he lay on his pillow, The Mouse thought of periwinkles and this made him smile, for he hadn't thought of periwinkles since his childhood and was a lifetime and an age ago.

* * *

The night drew on. Eventually the Badger Hallow grew silent as the bark on the trees and once again everything was still. Almost…

While the world became oblivious to the goings on of itself, soft padded footsteps approached the Hallow followed by a wet sniffing nose and a curious tail. The nose inhaled and realized three things: first, there were badgers and a mouse nearby, so there was dinner, second, there was the very thing the nose had been searching for all its life in a small brown satchel. The mouth that resided underneath the nose smiled and spoke.

"So, you were the one who took it? Didn't really expect that one."

_Wait a moment, _the brain thought, _you know this badger. Yes, dear Mathias! Oh remember the games you played when you were pups? How joyous those times were and how wonderful it would be to see him again._

The paws stretched themselves out and the body submitted itself to the snow as the head, which that of which was a wolf, decided to get some rest just in front of the slow slide outside the door. He smiled and laughed to himself as he dreamt the look of his master's face upon the return of a simple satchel and its single content.

* * *

_The sun peered through the trees, which stretched out their branches yearning for the warmth, comfort, and safety that was spring. A bird fluffed her wings and realizing the temperature simply yawned, resisting her impulse to sing her beautiful song. Her mate, who was busy waking up, turned over to his children and caressed them with his wing._

_"Children," he said sweetly, as all robins do, "time to wake up. It's morning."_

_"Oh father," a chick replied, so eager to slip into the realm of his dreams again, "must we? It's cold out and I wish to sleep for another hour."_

_"Ah yes," said the father, "but if you sleep for an hour then you'll request another and another and by then it shall be time to sleep again. Now get up and we'll see about some breakfast…."_

Hallam cried again. It was the third time in thirty minutes and Reepicheep was alone tending to him. Mathias had gone out to, very fittingly find breakfast, and Naomi had travelled with him. As for Marley he was too tired to move and simply resorted to preparing a fire and sweeping the floor with a makeshift broom.

Reepicheep, who had a rather large book of signature fairytales in his paws entitled, _"Narnian Tales, Myths, and Legends"_ by Dyson Gracie, looked down at the festering cub who was sitting next to him, smiled at the thought that this Badger, even at ten months old was larger than he was and it was probably the reason for the tears. Nevertheless, the Mouse set the heavy book aside, literally dropping it on the floor, admittedly cringing a bit at the thud of the thing, and turned towards Hallam as if he were a physician preforming a routine check-up.

"Now, what seems to be the trouble?" Reepicheep asked, knowing full well that Hallam could not understand him fully to begin with. Hallam simply cried, yearning something he knew he could not have at the moment.

"I bet you miss your mother," Reepicheep continued.

"Of course he does!" Marley cried, who was near the table, sweeping underneath it. "He's a milk drinker just like his father was." He huffed, ashamed and disgusted at the idea of femininity in a masculine mammal. Marley moved himself and his broom towards the pile of dust and dirt in the center of the room, making careful not to muck it up with his tail which was double checking his route, moving side to side, removing evidence of footsteps.

"You know for a while there, I thought Mathias was homosexual." Marley said.

Reepicheep shook his head, laughing at the thought but was not necessarily surprised by it. "If I were to tell you that I have thought the same about him would you believe me?"

"Yes, actually." Marley replied with a small chuckle as he walked over to the nearest closet to fetch the makeshift dustpan.

"Have you ever considered it?" Marley asked, "Homosexuality, I mean?"

"No," Reepicheep replied, "I do not find it practical for the country. It seems rather…unorthodox, to say the least. However, just because things are unorthodox does not mean they are necessarily inherently impractical- if that answers your question."

"It does," Marley said, "I'm glad you have an opinion on matters, it gives us elders something to believe in and hope for."

"Well, I'm glad to assure you then." Reepicheep said, who smiled and thought for a moment, the prospect of homosexuality, with whom it was obvious, but he realized rather quickly that the relationship would fly south quicker than a bird's migration. The reason would be simple, they would literally kill each other. For Reepicheep knew that Mathias Trufflehunter was the most orderly person in the entire place and understood that order could only be taken so long. The Mouse was more of an ordered chaos individual, with his house being not so tidy and his papers being strewn about as if he were taking up various papier-mâché projects. In a matter of days, they would be screaming and raging at each other like two disagreeing harlots on the side of a river bank. One claiming their business was more successful and just than the other and so on.

Reepicheep turned towards Hallam, who was still crying but a little less now, and gently and quietly moved around, climbing to where the small Badger's head was, and stroked the back and top of his head, moving his paw in small massaging circles. After a few moments, Hallam relaxed his shoulders and hushed.

"My, my," Marely said rather softly so as to not wake the sleeping cub up as he swept the dust and dirt into the dustpan which he placed on the floor, "you seem to have talent for this. Mind teaching Mathias that trick?"

The Mouse nodded and jumped from the chair. "After twenty minutes," Reepicheep said as he crossed the room to the kitchen table, in the back of his head wondering when Mathias and Naomi would return from their morning escapades. "Would you be so kind as to put our little dreamer in bed?"

Marley walked over to the garbage can, dustpan in hand, placing the entire thing, dust, dirt, and pan, in the garbage. "You know," he said, thinking to himself that he could always use a dustpan anyway, "That you'd make an exceptional godfather."

"As much as I would love to sire him when the sires are gone, I'm afraid that humble opportunity cannot be bestowed to someone like me." Reepicheep replied, sitting down at the place he sat last night, entering his mind and imagining him actually taking one of the many offers he received to be godfather, which in total were thirty-six, all of them by close friends, and all of those close friends, including the godson or goddaughter in question, inexpiably died from unrelated causes. One instance involved a drowning, another a fever that plagued the house.

"Let us just say for your own safety," Reepicheep continued, "that I am extremely unlucky and I fear my curse shall follow you if I even remotely think about accepting it. So no, I shan't be the boy's godfather, but, I can be a just friend and mentor of whatever it is he wishes to be astute in."

Marley nodded and noticed that Reepicheep was beginning to slouch- his whiskers moved down to the floor, his eyes became fixated on the rug, which no longer had the satchel for companionship, and his tail, of which he prided so much of, wallowed in the dirt. The Elder Badger slowly moved toward the table and sat down next to him.

"What happened to them was not your fault Reepicheep," Marley said, "they died because death sometimes happens. Granted, inconveniently at times, but that's part of life. If life were convenient then we would die with nothing accomplished and nothing gained."

Reepicheep turned towards Hallam and for a moment, pictured him dead and enjoying the sight of it. He saw himself smothering the poor cub with a pillow on which he sat on as he carved the body like a Christmas turkey, all the while laughing, shouting that dreadful Sir Lionel song as if he were drunk on sadism and stupidity. The Mouse shook his head and closed his eyes, reliving himself from the daydream and looked at Hallam again, who was sound asleep, curled up in the chair as if the quarrels of the world did not necessarily matter.

"Even words of truth," Reepicheep said to Marley, who was still with him, "cannot assure me."

The Mouse stood up, turned to Marley, and sighed heavily, "I believe I have overstayed my welcome. I shall pack, I shall leave, and I do believe that I shall never return here. Give them my love and blessing."

He turned to bolt out but Marley grabbed his tail, and fully knowing that Reepicheep hated it, personally could not care less.

"Reepicheep Hartwin Daren," Marely said pulling the Mouse back via the tail. "If you're leaving, you must do two things for me."

Reepicheep, who simply went along with the humiliation, quickly cursed and quickly forgave Marley for his arrogance of tail sensitivity. "Are those things quick and easy or long and difficult?"

"Quick and easy." Marley replied as he let go of the Mouse's tail and turned him around to face him. "You must promise to come back here and you must promise to live here until you die."

"Those requests are-"

"Necessary and ordered." Marley quipped, cutting Reepicheep off before he could finish. "I know what happened dear boy, and I know that we are all you have left."

Reepicheep's heart swelled- there was not an act more gracious and welcoming than being allowed to stay in another's home, but it was another thing entirely to be ordered to live there. His head understood what that request meant- a permanent place to retreat to, a humble roof to sleep under, and the justification of several wonderful, happy notions that were far from foolish and naïve.

He wanted so much to embrace this kindhearted adopted uncle of his, but instead, Reepicheep settled for a smile and a respectful nod.

"They would be so proud of you Reepicheep." Marley said, smiling and embracing the Mouse anyway.

"Your father was a good man, and your brothers were great too," The Badger continued, "Do them right and seek out your own greatness."

Reepicheep did not resist the impulse to embrace back, nor did he resist the urge to weep. "Why does grief pain the heart so?" He said beneath his tears, "Why can't it simply kill the heart instead?"

"Grief is an agent of love, Reepicheep." Marley replied, letting the Mouse go and walking over to Hallam and gently picking him up. "You of all people should know that."

The Elder Badger carried his grandson into his room and tucked him back in bed.

* * *

We must stand

For we all fall

But rarely do we ever stand.

Sure we get back up

But we don't stand.

We don't believe

To our fullest effort

That whatever it is

We are fighting for

Is also something to die for.

We don't strive

To seek what we came for.

We don't hold on to dreams anymore.

We don't inspire.

We don't create.

We don't even speak

With the same conviction like we used to.

We used to be brave,

We used to stand for something.

Standing does not mean _getting up_

For anyone can do that.

Standing is belief.

The belief that you can carry on.

The belief that you can do impossibilities

The belief that you can make it.

To the other side.

Join the choirs,

Sing the symphonies,

Praise!

Praise with all you have

That this moment right now,

Is something you fought for.

Not me, I didn't fight for this

Not them, they didn't fight for this

The only person who fought for anything

In this moment

This sacred moment of profound assurance

Of profound belief.

Is _you_.

All because you stood up.

The reason people push you down

The reason people hate on you

Destroy your life

Take your possessions

Kill your dreams

Is because you don't believe

That you can stand up.

Stand up!

I'm not talking about fighting,

I'm not talking about violence,

I'm not talking about vendettas,

I'm talking about belief.

If you believe that you can stand,

That you can push through anything,

That you can love those who despise you,

That you can pick up shattered pieces of your life

Or someone else's

The belief that you can win the battle.

Then you have succeeded.

We have lost the sense of brotherhood

We have gained a sense of caution

Trust is gone

Truth is gone

Belief is gone.

There is somewhere in the world

A place where freedom doesn't exist.

A place where trust, truth, and belief

Are forbidden words

I tell you to stand.

Stand up for those who seek

Stand up for those who ask

Stand up for those who can't

Stand up for yourself.

Do it courageously.

Courage doesn't mean

Blazing fury like in storybooks.

It doesn't mean fighting off dragons

Or saving princesses.

For those are children's stories.

They aren't life stories.

The greatest form of Courage

Is facing life and helping others

Find theirs.

The greatest test of Courage

is Condescendence.

How do you beat it?

How do you overcome every obstacle?

I honestly don't know

But I know a good place to start.

We must stand

For we all fall

But rarely do we ever stand.

Sure we get back up

But we don't stand.


	14. PART FOUR

**-PART FOUR-**

**In Concerning Narnian Affairs: Part III**

**_Post- Prince Caspian_**

* * *

To The Great Adonis (King) Kashmir,

It is without qualm that I write to you to-day in welcoming you to your most highest and well deserving position of Adonis, King of the West.

No longer will your name be subject to bitterness or resentment, but rather honor, dignity, and a sense of brotherhood. If anyone dares say otherwise, send for me.

There are sadly, too few words of which to say 'eternal thanks' with besides those specific words. It's as if somewhere along the way people thought a simple thanks would suffice for all occasions. Nay, for you deserve eternal thanks and know that you have them with me. You saved not only my life, but the lives of others and in doing so, have saved and redeemed the world. Those who aim to do this, will always be favored in the eyes of divinity. Pardon the poeticism but it's true.

Not to take away from the joyous occasion but I'm afraid I have to be the bearer of bad news. Valery, our dear friend and warhorse, has passed. He died this morning from typhus. His final hours were in my house, so I can assure you he was well looked after. His last words were simple and true, the mantra of his life: "Rise above it." The words of a martyr who understood what life and death was. He will be missed.

Valery also gave me King Jasper's fibula, the circular gold one with your people's crest on it. I guess he thought it fitting that I should keep it.

To be honest, I can't imagine why, I am no page or magistrate, for people of that caliber, who physically have that position are worthy of such a gift. I am merely a river mouse who's only desire in life is serve those who need service. That's all anyone can do really, assist and serve others. I'm content with that. Still, the fibula is nice. I have a display case somewhere- it'll make a good piece.

Also, I don't know if this is of great importance, but Damien stopped by. He spoke a bit of his gibberish, said you would understand what it means. Best go to him soon, he looked a bit distressed, wouldn't disclose any more details, wanted to have you present. Vexer, who was also here, told me to "seek and ponder the things that are yonder in the valley where the flower was placed- multiply it by fifty thousand and six."

Hope you can make sense of this fiasco.

Congratulations on the position and may your life and people prosper with happiness and peace.

If you should ever need me for any reason, dire or trivial, you'll know you can always come to me. Don't be a ghost either, you're always welcome at my door and in my house.

With all sincerity and respect, your guard, advisor, and brother,

Reepicheep


	15. Dulce et Decorum Est

_**Dulce et Decorum Est**_

**Auschwitz Concentration Camp**

**December 10th, 1940**

**Prisoner No. 193105 (Valery Popov)**

Imagine standing at an endless funeral procession.

There is the fallen, there is gloom, there is sadness, there is a great abyss before you. Subconsciously you understand that people die and move on, that death is just the end of the first circle of life and the beginning of the second. You know this, and yet you still cry, because subconsciously you know that you too are going to one day suffer the same fate. Subconsciously, human beings are expert practitioners of narcissism. We value life and consider death a dreadful thought. We cannot grasp the idea of leaving our physical flesh. It's just too impossible, too ludicrous and profane to think about.

Now, imagine standing at that endless funeral procession again. The Reaper is the pallbearer. If you lived well like most of us have, and have been accused falsely like all of us have then suddenly leaving the physical and entering the eternal metaphysical-physical doesn't sound like a crazy, ludicrous or profane idea at all. It actually sounds wonderful.

This place is ironically the greatest Christian paradoxical structure in the world: the only way to live is to die.

Death doesn't understand his primary function. To send people away not to eternal sorrow, but eternal happiness. So why then is Death seen as a dreadful Reaper, when he is simply the threshold in which to pass into?

Then again, I realize my position. I am not passing through the threshold or on the other side. Rather, I am in the damming trial and tribulation of my soul.

The hope of this place, someone told me, is knowing that at least you'll die with an audience that gives you a standing ovation after the performance.

If I were to give a speech to this audience, I would say:

You eradicate a people who have done no evil. I am sent to execution by a misinformed populace of evil who believe the second coming is at hand. If he, this Hitler, is the Savior of the World, tell me what joy, what humanity, what understanding has he brought you? He has deceived you into committing murder, mass genocide, all for the glory. The glory of what? The country? The world? God? The country, if they understood, would be ashamed of this. The world, if they witnessed it, would revolt against it. As for what God believes, I am not at liberty to say, but if Caesar could not kill Him, what makes you think you can kill us without divine reprimands and intervention?

The Germans are a prime example of Caesarian mind control, and we, the Jews, have always been the same.

A door opens. Blinding sunlight enters, exposing our so called wickedness to the world. A man with keys walks toward the cell across from me. His hooves clash against the stone, his retched smile covers his face from one end to the other. He whistles Mussorgsky, indicating that he is the Beelzebub of the situation.

"37912, time to go for a walk."

He turns the key, the lock echoes a death knoll. Prisoner number 37912, the one I call Illich-Svitych, an old man of eight-seven from Konstantinovsk, a town near the River Don, walked out from his prison. Haggard and lame, Mister Illich-Svitych had the appearance of Hugo's recluse. Mangled hair, typhus skin, gray eyes, and a smile of naiveté- a sign of his mental deficiency. He wasn't born with it, retardation, it was developed by the de-socialization, dehumanization, and humiliation that this place causes.

He looks toward me with the same smile. He is brutishly escorted out, showing no fear, giving praise to God for his life and his entry. To him, death is the sweet release, the necessary escape.

The door closes, the light leaves. The rain goes steady now. Illich-Svitych's footsteps are heard. He takes his place along the wall, the marksman walks center stage, says his dialogue, raises and fires. The bullet hits the concrete.

Illich-Svitych is free.

The wind blows from the south, the marksman exits, the curtain closes, the door reopens.

The hoofed man enters again, looks to me and says:

"You knew him?"

"Not formally no, why?" I ask him.

"Because he looked at you as if he knew you." A pause. "Did he?"

"Know me?" I ask, "no, well, most likely he knew of my formal life."

"Which was?"

"Honestly," I say to him, "I can't remember, I've been in here so long."

He told me that I used to be a source of pestilence. That I was the reason for this massacre, but he didn't phrase it exactly like that. He said it in a glorifying way, as if my suffering were contributing to the great of the nation.

"What nation?" I ask him. "The nation of slavery?"

The nation of perfection was his answer. He left telling me that I should suspect fifty-seven lashings and fifty-seven minutes on the poles, as if that were going to help contribute to the great of the nation.

I stole this pen and pad from a semi-benevolent officer in the Munich train station. I say semi-benevolent because he was too blind to know that I even did it. I'm surprised that they didn't confiscate it in the searches, I guess they thought I was harmless, that, or was going to die soon anyway so they didn't think anything of it.

This morning I received those fifty-seven lashes and minutes on the pole. I hung by a small coat hook like a slaughtered cadaver. But if I were one of those, then the man next to me, was a worm eaten skeleton. He had been sentenced to one-hundred and fifty eight lashings and eight hours- the longest sentence I've heard of. His cries of mercy must have reached the stars, because two hours later it rained and two hours later he died. I was there when he was dying, in his last moments he said:

Ich war schon einmal ein freier Mann, schrieb Bücher und Schuhe geflickt.

The loose translation:

I was once a free man, who wrote books and mended shoes.

"This is our crucifixion." He said, this time in English.

"No," I replied, "it is our grieving station."

I was taken down.

My sides ache, my ribs are bruised, and my chest burns. As I walk painfully back to my cell, my neighbor, prison number 092042, Kacper Bosko, a man of twenty-eight from Warsaw, beat his hand against the wall.

"Hey Rabbi," he said, "did you know that man, the one they whipped?"

"No." I answered.

"Sure looks like you did. I know, I watched you from my window here."

"Stop lying to yourself," I said, "you didn't see anything, the windows are too high."

"Yeah, you're right, sorry for that."

"No need to apologize in hell." I answered.

A brief silence.

Mister Dominik Gottschalk, the jailer and Great Sentinel of the Block, begins to make his rounds.

"Good morning," he says, walking slowly looking into each cell into the hearts of broken men. "As you all know, Mister Valery Popov, or 193105, was whipped this morning for questioning an officer. Because of his lack of understanding you will all be forced to work the yard for seven hours every day until you die. Is that understood?"

Yes sir.

He exits and when darkness takes over, the accusations begin.

"Nice going Valery, you sick bastard, now I'll be slaving for the rest of my fucking life!" Julius Harmon, a Jew from Berlin said.

"Hey, it wasn't his fault, at least he had the guts to do something." Kacper said.

"Thank you moi droog," I answered, "I'll remember this later."

"No problem Rabbi."

"Why do you call me that?"

"Because you used to be one." Kacper replies.

I laugh a little, "Funny, you think a man would remember his previous occupation."

"Wars and hell can do that to you." Kacper said, "anyway, I used to be a watchmaker."

"The man who was with me wrote books and mended shoes." I said. "He had a family, a wife, no children. He didn't directly say it but his eyes did."

We talked for about two hours before Dominik came around again keeping us quiet and for us to stay that way if we ever want to eat again.

Meals are degrading scraps and when it comes we are reduced to animality. Pacing, slurping, chewing, tearing, shredding. Primal instinct. I am one of the tame ones. Julius and even Mister Bosko go to extreme lengths to get what they want, for it is presented to us in a pail, much like how circus animals are fed. We have come to figure out that the more animalistic we behave, the more scraps we are given, but they decrease in desirability so no one dares to make a fool of themselves unless they are absolutely desperate.

'You you're only making it worse." I said to Kacper, who was doing his perception of a Bengal Tiger, "Soon they'll be throwing shit at you."

"I don't care." Kacper said, "it's substance."

Five minutes pass and they leave, just like always, and just like always I ended up with nothing.

"I have a bone if you want to split it." Kacper said, reaching his hand out and moving it over to the best of his ability.

"No, you go on ahead." I answered.

"You haven't had any food for three days," said prison number 053106, Ermenegilde Favre, or simply Ermen, a French Jew from Marseilles who visited his German relatives at the wrong time of the year. "Eat something Valery."

"I wish I could." I said, "But it's not like they give a sufficient supper."

"Still," Ermen said, "at breakfast, you must fight for something. If you won't then I will and give it to you."

"You're a brave man Ermen," I said, "possibly the bravest in here."

"I'm glad to hear that," Ermen said, "because I'm going to be tested in the morning."

Tested. The most devastating word you could hear in this place.

That night, I prayed for his strength, faith, and survival.

If you are 'to be tested' it means one of two things, a physical examination or you become a test subject. The most likely case scenario is the later. I've never been a witness, but someone described it to me like this:

Look in the mirror for a moment. See yourself, smile and wave. You're happy with the way you look and you, for the most part, generally look the same. Now, rip your skin off. Tear off every patch of hair, pluck every eyebrow, nose hair and carve the word 'Toten' on your brain, leaving the knife there. Remove your eyes and devour them, and then if you're still breathing, squeeze your jugular until it bursts. Then, reinsert your skin. That's human experimentation.

But I don't need hyperboles and metaphors in order to comprehend the horror. Two hours after lunch, Ermen was cut in half and sewn together with another man who was apparently his brother. He was connected to this man for five seconds before passing. Prison number 053106, Ermenegilde Favre, 1917-1942. A Frenchman. Occupation unknown, marital status unknown, place in history- a decent man.


	16. A Book of Poetry

_**A Book of Poetry**_

_**This Dear Fellows Is a Story**_

This dear fellows,

A story of no time

Nor place.

Deals with valor,

Glory,

Regret and Pride,

Of a mouse

Who's name is surely mine.

So come on,

Be merry,

Go on,

Say so.

This tale is long

Just like mine whiskers,

So sit and relax

And summon your spinsters.

Relieve them of duty,

Pay them handsomely for time.

For it is a new age,

Let us begin with mine.

* * *

_**A Poem for a Man I Hated Who Is Dead**_

Death to the hypocrite

Who say to me.

"He was a man of great

Passion and certainty."

Down with the King

Who give him praise.

A man whom I hated,

Despised all his days.

Why, you ask

I wish a man dead.

Considering facts

He wished it first,

Only this was in reverse.

My honor was taken and stolen,

When the seal of mine love

Ravished and broken.

In vengeance I swore

To even the score,

So I went to his house

To set it.

He was dead in drink

And I was struck with regret

For I saw near me

A sweet dove

Who not what she was in danger of.

I left the place

Shook the man alive,

Brought him out and relived his thighs.

He asked me my business

I told him straight out:

"You stole my linage,

My love, my bride,

Now take thy pestilence

And begin to die."

So it is over.

The deed has been done.

The sweet dove cried in mercy:

"What have you done!"

I did not answer,

I simply walked away.

A major regret

That I hold to this day.

* * *

_**The Day I Married a Murderous Pheasant**_

The day I married a murderous pheasant

Wasn't all that joyous or pleasant.

I was sitting at home,

In this very chair

When I felt a sudden

Shift in the air.

She was boisterous

And rude.

Gawking and confused.

Standing in my doorway.

"What business have you,

If not relevant than leave.

For I am quite busy."

I said to her that day.

She looked at me

Smiling and said

Quite divinely,

"My love,

Don't you see,

That you married me?"

I looked at her again,

Noticing then

Remnants of a kiss,

Markings small enough

To be mine.

"Surely," I say,

"This is all just a folly.

You must confuse me

With someone else.

Perhaps my twin brother

Sought you out."

"Nay," she said,

"For it was you who wed me

And left me for dead."

Confused and annoyed,

I walked back to my chair,

And stared, stared, stared

At the wall.

Disbelieving my sudden

Loud, great fall.

She came in

As if she knew the place.

She walked towards me

I said: "Please, it's no race."

"Insulting me now, dear husband

Who is sly? Why did you leave me

On the road to die?"

I sighed, stood again,

And said,

"Dear woman, this is a waste of time.

I am not your lover,

You are not mine,

So why don't you just go back and-"

She cried.

"You don't love me at all,

They spoke of you, you know,

Said you were great,

Honorable and such.

But who leave a wife

In the dust?"

I rolled my eyes,

For this was a sham,

And knew that some way

It had to end.

So I left her alone

And went away

Came back an hour later

With Marcus, a pheasant

Who said:

"I teach her how to be

More pleasant."

They eloped

And went on their merry way.

As I sat back in my chair,

A note saying:

"You'll rue the day."

A week later

I was met with a quarrel,

Apparently she found

Evidence against me.

Saying once again:

"Why do you hate me?

You tried to butcher me

And leave me cold in the street."

I said to her calmly:

"Relax and rest your feet.

Surely there is a way

Out of this,

For my name to be clear

Along with your head.

Do you suffer from amnesia?"

She said she didn't know.

"Common answer," I said,

"Still, I need to know.

What is your name?"

She said it was Mary,

Her last name she said,

Was Quite Contrary.

I asked where she hailed

She said it was:

"Finchley"

I knew right away

The source of confusion.

So I beat her on the head

With a heavy book

Taking careful notice,

And a hard look.

"I think I know you,"

I said when she woke,

"You were out walking,

And heard me spoke.

I wager, when was the last time

You summoned a preacher?"

"Two weeks ago." She said.

Ah, that explains it,

I was reciting an original love song,

For a friend who desperately

Needed it to woo his lover.

It was Marcus.

"Dear woman," I said,

"You have been smitten by words

Fell on your head and assumed that I

Left you for dead."

She nodded, and felt her head.

"Did you hit me?" She asked.

"Yes." I said.

She choked,

Strangled,

Wrestled and fought.

Sending me to the ground

With a great huge kick and bound

To the groin.

I saw stars for a moment

My thoughts conjoined.

I parried and sought

To end the struggle

When she advanced at me

Continuing the tussle.

I saluted (with the blade)

She came stumbling

But bore no shame.

I helped her up,

Forced her out the door

And thought I would see

Of her no more

When she turned around

And slapped me

I deserved it.

Quick I sent for Marcus again,

Who came and said:

"My love she is not.

I thought she was true

But turns out she is a harlot.

Sorry about the head old boy,

I'll make it up to you with a Marlon."

She, who was helped by Marcus

Out the door,

Marcus threw her into a ditch.

I've been told that she has now

Engaged to my brother.

They sent an invitation,

I denied it,

Full resignation.

* * *

_**To Paraphrase a Poet**_

O, Love,

Thou never art frail

Nor fading.

Even in the shadow of The End,

Mine heart, shall ye defend.

O, Life,

Thou end

To discover eternal quality.

Mine moving spirit, ye capture always.

O, Death,

Thou are swift and Harbinger

Of mine affection.

Enter and entrap me

Bring me into

His Ether.

O, Lord,

Artist of the World,

Master of mine judgment,

Pray, be just,

Tis a silly worry.

No need of those now.

For ye places them under

Into Fire

And Forever Under.

O, Brotherhood,

May ye always look yonder

To places ever higher

Than thou see.

The superseding Power,

Null Death's Victory!

Make us yours,

Place your Name

On our head

For you are a Bride,

A beautiful enchantment,

That enthralls mine eyes.

Eradicate all peevish desires

And earthly ideals.

May we be hostage to peace

And given life long sentence

Under Your Glamorous Jurisdiction.

The only true way

Ye can save me

Is to end me.

The only way

Ye can secure me

Is to have me hogtied.

The only way

I can be free,

Is to be imprisoned.

To paraphrase a poet

Who is Donne.

* * *

_**The Innocence of Firefly Waltzes**_

I walked across a field

One evening

As the fireflies danced a waltz,

Not having a care in the world.

The quintessence of innocence.

The River babbled

The Trees retorted back.

Everything was bliss

Just like innocence.

Eventually,

I came across a meager house.

One that was rotting,

Coursing with stench and

Foul ruin.

Peering my head to see

What the matter was,

There stood a picture

Of a ferret and bat.

The ferret, I knew

Was a fellow who used to say:

"All play and all work makes

Ye somewhat tired."

The bat, I did not know,

For he was a stranger.

Just as I was, in said house.

Moving quieter than myself

(Yes the pun intended)

I walked to the back room

Found the stench,

Which it was rooted.

The poor ferret had died

From the bat's gift,

A fruit, which was poisoned

And half-eaten.

In the corner was a grin,

Much that of a devil.

I backed slowly away,

Not wanting to stay

Any longer than necessary.

"Wait," the bat said,

"Must you go?"

"Yes." I replied,

"It is late and I have not yet supped."

"Me neither."

The bat flew over

A place unseen

Sat atop the door and spoke again:

"What do you call yourself?"

I stated my name

He gave his, it was simple:

Poe.

"Did you kill the ferret?"

I asked obviously.

"To quote yourself,"

Poe said, "yes."

"Why," said I,

"What did you detest about him?"

Silence took the conversation.

After no answer

I left the place.

This meager house

Which is most unfit

For innocent firefly waltzes.


	17. Mice, Woodpeckers, and Social Awkwardnes

_**Mice, Woodpeckers, Intelligence, Sentence Coherence, Social Awkwardness and The Rules of How a Hanging Tree Works**_

**3 a.m.**

As he dreamt of baboons and periwinkles, Reepicheep was disturbed by the pecking of a woodpecker.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

A pause.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"I am officially five seconds away from committing murder and having no quarrels about it." The mouse said rather sleepily still trying desperately to hold on to his fantasy of romance and wonder.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"That's it, don't care anymore." He removed himself from his bed, lit a candle walked towards the nearest window opened it and said:

"Hey!"

The woodpecker, who was in the tree just above Reepicheep's house, looked down, saw the rodent and smiled. "Oh, hello Mister Mouse, how are you today?"

Reepicheep rolled his eyes, _"Great, you're one those conversationalists."_

"Did you say something gov?" The woodpecker.

The mouse sighed, "Yes, I did. Just to clarify for you, I've never been on a political platform, council or participated in any sort of voluntary political opinion poll ever in my life. So to use your saying, 'gov' which I'm assuming is short for governor, let me say with sound assurance that I never have, never will be, and will never seek to be the political reprehensive of anything. Ever. I'm not a politician, I'm not anything but a mouse."

"Ah, but you could be the governor of the mice!"

"Ludicrous and insane, and do you have any idea at all how ridiculous that title sounds? Governor of the Mice? How...laughable. Almost embarrassing to your species."

"Woodpeckers," the bird said, "are highly intelligent."

"Really? Highly intelligent are you? Well why in all that is good are you destroying your brain?"

"I'm not destroying my brain, I'm using my beak. There's a difference, a big difference and you're mucking it up!"

Reepicheep climbed out of his home and confronted the bird and said very matter-of-factually, "That sentence made no coherent sense."

"Well," the woodpecker replied, "most of the things I say don't make a lot of sense."

"I can imagine why." The mouse said.

"Are you singing that song?" The woodpecker asked.

"What song?" Reepicheep asked.

"You know the song." The woodpecker said.

"No, I don't, what are talking about?"

"You know." The woodpecker said.

"I really don't."

"Yes you do!" The woodpecker repeated.

"No I don't! Now can we please stop this nonsense so we both go to bed?" Reepicheep asked in the most sincere way he could.

"I'm a night owl you see."

"But you're not an owl." The mouse said.

The woodpecker smiled and flew down from his perch. "You don't get out much do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," the woodpecker said examining the mouse closely, "you don't uh," he circled around, "you're not familiar with expressions- are you?"

Reepicheep eyed the bird quizzically, "Like facial, social, literary..."

"All three." The bird said.

"Oh yes, well no," Reepicheep replied, "I'm simply awful with people."

The woodpecker nodded, "You don't have much in the way of brains do you?"

"I beg your pardon I am extremely intelligent!" The mouse said taking the defensive, having half a mind to defend his honor with the blade but decided that it was three o'clock in the morning and at three o'clock in the morning it is best to let your words be your sword and shield.

"See, that's what's all intelligent people say." The woodpecker said as he began to walk around comically,

"'I'm intelligent, listen to what I have to say.'"

He turned back towards Reepicheep, "Do you know who else was really smart?" He asked, "Aristotle, and he was wrong on everything. Expect for one thing, he didn't know that he was wrong. See the first step in being right is knowing that you're wrong a hundred percent of the time." He flew back up to his branch.

Reepicheep smiled, thankful that this bird was capable of intelligent conversation. "Now that's the first thing you've said that's made coherent sense since the start of this conversation. Also, who's Aristotle? He sounds like a twit."

"Oh don't worry," replied the woodpecker sad he continued his work, "he was."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Reepicheep rolled his eyes again, "I'm sorry but this cannot continue. If you must do your work feel free to do it at a reasonable time when people aren't trying to sleep." As hee turned back towards his house the woodpecker asked:

"I'm sorry but who are you?"

"The mouse who lives underneath you." Reepicheep said.

"Yes, but _who_ are you?"

"The mouse who lives underneath you." The mouse repeated, "I really hate repeating myself."

"You're not good at this.," The woodpecker said, flying over and landing next to him "I'm trying to say, who do you think you are?"

"Um...a mouse."

"You're not obviously not." The bird replied.

"What do you mean obviously not?" Reepicheep asked a bit confused as to why a bird would as such a trivial and mundane question at this hour. "Look at me! I am anatomically a mouse."

"_Anatomically_ a mouse," the woodpecker said, "but what are you otherwise?"

"Solider, swordsman, page, colleague to the King-"

"Egotistical narcissist."

"Egotistical- wait," Reepicheep smiled slyly and laughed, "I see what you're doing. You're smarter than I originally gave you credit for. Perhaps you don't have brain damage after all."

"You thought that I was beating my head in?" The woodpecker said a bit insulted.

"Well on first impression," the mouse said, "yes."

"Um...I was hanging a sign."

"At three am in the morning?"

The woodpecker looked up and sighed dramatically as if he were in a Shakespearian comedy, "If I hang it during the day, people will get upset."

"Why?" Reepicheep asked, "It's a sign."

"Because it's a hanging tree." The bird answered.

Reepicheep stopped a moment, his eyes grew a bit, "A what?"

"A hanging tree."

"What?" Reepicheep said, still in a bit of shock.

"Are you serious?" The woodpecker said, "You don't know what a hanging tree is?"

"A know what a hanging tree is, but I don't know what you're saying." Reepicheep moved towards his window.

"I'm saying that you're living underneath a hanging tree."

Reepicheep laughed, it was almost hysterical, "Preposterous!"

"Um...no, it's not, the King, you know Caspian, um, he declared it a hanging tree years ago. Actually to be specific, the Majesties of the Golden Age did about a thousand years ago." The woodpecker said.

Reepicheep turned his head, his eyebrows raised somewhat, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you're stupid." The bird said.

"I am extremely intelligent."

The bird smiled, "You keep saying that as if it's supposed to mean something."

"It is supposed to mean something!" The mouse shouted.

"What does it mean then?"

"It means," Reepicheep said, "that I'm intelligent."

"Says the mouse who lives underneath a hanging tree that didn't know it was hanging tree?"

The mouse smiled, "Says the woodpecker who is five seconds from being hung from that hanging tree."

"Says the mouse who cannot do that."

"And why not?" Reepicheep asked.

"I'm the executioner."

Reepicheep nodded slowly, yawned slightly due to lack of sleep, and said, "Executioners have been executed by their own execution devices."

"Yes but I'm the royal executioner."

Reepicheep's eyes were about three times their normal size, he about fainted, "The Royal Executioner!" He got down on his knees and began to beg, "Just, just, end it, kill me now, so this idiotic, dull and useless conversation can end ambigiously."

"I'm sorry, normally I would, I can't, not today."

"What's wrong with today, why not now?" The mouse asked.

"Today's Sunday."

"And..."

"You don't hang on Sunday."

Reepicheep stood up, "Says who?"

"Says everyone who has ever existed."

Reepicheep sighed, nodded and climbed back through his window, "Good night, morning, whatever it is you designate this time to you woodpecker, I am off to bed."

So the mouse returned to bed.

* * *

**Thirty Minutes Later**

As Reepicheep was dreaming of periwinkles and baboons...

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

A pause.

"Maybe he'll stop soon."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. ...Tap. Tap. Tap._

It increased and began to ring in the mouse's ears.

"Hopefully any minute now."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Is this going to continue all night?"

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Yes Reepicheep it is."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

* * *

**Dawn**

As the morning sun passed through the window and underneath Reepicheep's door, the mouse was awaken once again not to tapping but of this:

"You are hereby sentenced to death by hanging by the order of King Caspian X. You are charged with murder, conspiracy and larceny, do you have anything to say in your defense before I carry out sentence?"

Silence.

"No, okay, drop the-"

A thud.

Reepicheep got himself ready for the day opened his door and saw the sole of a human shoe.

"Sorry about the shoe being in your door," it was the woodpecker who was up top, "that's going to happen a lot."

"How often?"

"Um...daily."

"Daily!" Reepicheep screamed, "Are you serious right now?"

"Um...yeah, do you know how many enemies Caspian has? This is the official hanging tree of the kingdom. If we were to hanging people from any other tree there is a slight chance of them coming back to life."

Reepicheep rolled his eyes, "What! If a person is dead, then they are dead. Meaning that they no longer possess the functions of life. They cannot physically do anything else, they cannot move, breathe, communicate. All cadavers can do is secrete their bowels, rot, wither and die. Dead means dead. There's nothing more to say about it!"

"So..." the woodpecker said, "let's talk about something else."

Reepicheep sighed, "Alright what pointless conversation do you want to start now."

"The meaning of life."

"Oh well," the mouse said perking up, "that is a very interesting conversation and I think it's best if we start by looking at the complexities of-"

"I'm sorry you're boring me to death," the woodpecker said, "let's talk about hobbies."

"One topic at a time please." The mouse said, "Besides, I have errands to run and-"

"Oh you won't be going anywhere with that body in the way."

"Well, can you move it?" The mouse asked.

Silence.

"I'm a woodpecker."

Reepicheep sighed, "Of course you are, a brain damaged, repetitive annoying woodpecker who won't leave me-"

"Are you questioning my intelligence again?" The woodpecker asked.

"Nay!" Reepicheep called. He muttered to himself, "Just your sense of being able to take hints."

"Take hints of what?"

The mouse stopped trying in terms of reasoning and kept his thoughts to himself.

"Don't you dare say anything bad about my mother!" The woodpecker warned.

"I have not spoken ill of your mother." Reepicheep said, "Now please, leave me alone."

"No sir, afraid I can't do that." The woodpecker said.

"Why?"

"Because, it's common law that the executioner stay with the hanging tree." The woodpecker said.

Reepicheep retreated to a chair, slumped, looked at me and said, "Dear sir, I implore you to please consider my position here."

Oh don't worry, I consider your position.

"Well, glad to hear of it, so if I may ask one question?"

Sure.

"Why did you pair me with the incompetent, annoying, little-"


	18. August

_**August**_

Standing on a cliff face, Reepicheep looked down and noticed how pristine the world was. How the trees mingled with themselves in conversations of the weather. The great birds of prey swooped and dove into dances- they being dauphins of the universe.

_Lofty eagles and hawks and conversationalist trees aside,_ said the wind, _I prefer singing_ _with the robins- for they are much more keen to enjoy me._

Trufflehunter, who was with the Mouse at the moment, walked over from a small cave from which they spent the night and looked out into the forest.

"Appreciating the view?" The badger asked.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Reepicheep replied, turning towards Trufflehunter with an endearing, clairvoyant smile. "Nature is a beautiful observation point from which to observe how you live. If you stop and climb a cliff you'll see how ridiculous the idea of egotism really is."

A hawk, the size of fifty men emerged from the canopy, spreading its wings and calling out his voice as if to spread fear or warning upon the Earth. Flying into the sky, he searched and dove and flew up again, weaving in and out like a needle in a stewardess' hand searching and believing in a cause worthy of knitting a sweater for- lunch. The wind gave the bird a neutral pass for it said:

_Don't consume any robins- for they at least appreciate my breezes._

The hawk, who gave no answer found a nest of blue jays and began Nature's wicked beauty. To say that it was undesirable to hear is an understatement but to say that it was an act of murder is ludicrous.

"Reepicheep," Trufflehunter said, "did you see that hawk?"

"I did." Reepicheep answered. "To be frank I think it just, for who am I to judge Nature and natural things. I don't understand them so I tend to keep out of it."

"But it's inhumane!" The badger cried, watching as tree branches began to move and the poor souls be consumed by the larger, aggressive and august hawk.

The hawk beat his wings against the nest, pulverizing it to bits of dust like a saw mill. The leaves shook and vibrated, pleading for the abuse and ravishing of innocence to stop- but the hawk, who once again gave no answer, continued until the deed was done. He stood erect graciously bowed his head, thanking the tree for its services and began weaving in the air again.

"Do you expect a dauphin to give up his right, his choice of whom he chooses?" Reepicheep asked.

"Well, it is-"

"Barbaric, sinister, carnivorous and immoral- to you and me. Think about morality, necessity and Nature for a moment. If we do not find food for ourselves we shall wither and die, if we do not experience Nature then we become somewhat egotistical about ourselves, and if we do not defend the right and defeat the wrong then we are simply being lazy. Put this into context of the hawk. He survives by hunting and he is a part of Nature. He does not wonder how large he is because he is aware of it- he knows by the look of his prey's eyes how large he is. He also knows one thing that we fail to remember- there is a sky above our heads. Since the hawk jurisdiction is the sky, then he is aware of who governs him. Birds are very selfless- they understand and comprehend things that we either also do or refuse to do. If he is not egotistical and is aware of his part in Nature then surely he hasn't the audacity to uphold evil. No, he does not. Hawks, dear sir are symbols of kingship, duty and protection. He did not see this as an act of malice nor as an act of mercy but merrily an act of breakfast. Well, you say, he is a selfish bird. Not so, for what selfish bird thanks the provider of the meal?"

Trufflehunter could not think of an answer. Instead he watched the dauphin go at it again for a second time on a small cardinal. The hawk did not only bow after the meal but took the feather up with him and released it into the air, letting the wind carry it into the hawk's dominion and farther into that of His. The hawk, who levitated into space, did not move until the feather could no longer be seen. He cried his voice again and left as quickly as he came.

* * *

The Mouse and Badger walked back to the small cave and packed their belongings. The fire, which was doused properly, gave a small bit of smoke, a last effort in life. To think that hours ago it was vigorous and full of life, giving warmth to the world, being a source of inspiration to someone- to think it lays dead in the dust is barbaric but to say that it is expected is also true. For fires, much like lives burn and create worth during their prime, but when they reach a point where they can longer sustain itself, it ceases to burn and dies.

Entering the forest, the two friends trekked along the river bank making their way towards their homes when the spotted the dauphin hawk again. He was circling back around, imitating a vulture when he finally landed in the same tree as the blue jay nest. For a moment, all was still, as if the trees and wind were wondering and waiting of what was to come. Reepicheep and Trufflehunter stopped too, for they both looked up and feared that a distraught mother had returned home to find a gruesome display waiting for her there.

"Please!" The mother blue jay said, "I don't want any trouble!"

"I am not here for trouble," the hawk replied, "I simply wish to beseech you."

"Beseech me?" She said, tears pouring and heart breaking. She dropped her findings of worms and grubs onto the branch and desperately tried to pick up nest remnants. The hawk said nothing and watched as this mother wailed as the weights of grief and depression slowly began to rest on her shoulders. She submitted herself to sadness and the sheer size of it forced her to hug the branch and remain there in a grief stricken shell shocked state of silence.

"I came to tell you that I am sincerely sorry." The hawk said after respecting her notion of stillness. "I know that the words are inadequate and very inappropriate but I cannot imagine what grief is- I've never experienced it. My job demands of me to police the air and go about my Nature as if it were a secondary requirement. I have learned over the years that it is best to consul the reasoning of why with the people I can. For I do not wish to be someone who is malevolent, that is not the qualities of a Dauphin but rather those of a boa constrictor. I know you must be thinking ill of me or wish it upon me and frankly I wouldn't blame you. If you were to strike at me now I would give no offence or reprimands against it- it is justified. It is proper and it is honorable to do so. You loved them- your family; and if it is any consolation, they went knowing where they would be going."

He stopped, watched and saw that the mother had not moved. Her eyes were fixed out into space and her body was motionless. It was as if she were trying her best to kill herself via suffocation than to listen to this hawk's remorse. The Dauphin moved a wing over her and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt a pulse.

"You can speak you know," he said, "you have permission and the right."

The mother nodded slowly. The hawk removed his wing and assisted her up.

"Why did you spare me?" She asked. "Why did you cruelly spare me?"

The Dauphin sighed, for he really had no answer. He looked in the tree canopy for an escape route, but all he found was a woodpecker diligently working and a squirrel scurrying to a nowhere in particular.

"Hello," the blue jay said, "did you hear me, I said why did you cruelly spare me?"

The hawk nodded and rubbed his talons together. Nervousness was setting in and although in his mind he had justification for all this, he knew that it is best to leave your justification alone and say what the person desires to hear.

"I spared you because you weren't home at the time." The hawk said, thinking to himself what a petty excuse it was. "I apologize," he said rather quickly, "that was a petty and unacceptable excuse."

He sighed and looked at her eyes, the last resort escape plan for the eyes tell more about emotion than facial expression and the hawk could tell that this mother blue jay wanted a reason as to why.

"I spared you," the hawk said, "because if I didn't then I would lose brethren. I know it is odd for me to kill and then for me say I respect and need them but really, it isn't _that_ odd if you think about it."

"Did you think about me?" The blue jay said, crying again, "Did you think of me coming home to this?"

The hawk nodded. "I did, and I thought of how heartbroken, grief stricken and miserable you were going to be. I pictured you angry, wanting to kill me at first sight, seek vendetta against my kin, which I'm sorry to say that I have none. I do not know what grief is like as I've said before, but I cannot imagine the pain- which is an emotion that I feel every time I need to eat something. If pain is similar to grief, then I am grieving with you now. If it be something different, then I lay broken on the floor like bits of glass in a shattered window. All you have to do is scoop me up and toss me into the trash."

"My husband was a good man." She said, "I hope you realize that. My children were three days old, I hope you realize that too."

When the hawk gave no response the blue jay dug at him with her talons letting all the rage and all the sorrow ventilate and stick onto the hawk's feathers. The Dauphin said nothing and took the beating. He let her scar his flesh and rip beautiful feathers from him. He let her claw at his talons and shred his wings to pieces. He let her abuse and ravish him.

When the rage and sorrow were done, the Dauphin, who now lay scarred, bruised and beaten, bowed before her. He did so low, slow and with full exposure to further rampage if the blue jay so desired.

"You forgot the eyes." He said.

The blue jay looked at him and saw that in his eyes lay a sea of remorse and a storm of grief. "Why would I do that?" She asked.

"I have looked up the skies, I have gazed at the hearts of men, I have seen the Law and wrote it. I have been through the storm and above it. I have never been Oedipus- to look upon the lover of a soldier and be a hypocrite. My justification is nothing compared to yours. Destroy my sight and vengeance shall be yours."

The blue jay looked upon him and felt pity. She saw a bird from lofty position come down and beg forgiveness. She saw a bird who once governed the domain of the wind and give up his title just to have a chance of redemption. She saw a bird who was giving his dignity for justice- a quality she now understood was something he held more dear than his own desire to live.

The blue jay said nothing. Instead, she placed a wing on his head.

The hawk stood, smiled and placed a wing on the mother's head. "I, August, Dauphin of the Air, salute and pray for you. This mother of the martyred has shown mercy to wickedness."

He removed his wing and held his smile. "I do not expect you to forgive me, I do not expect you to salute back, but you gave me justification for my belief on why I do my duties."

"Which is what exactly?" The blue jay asked.

"That I make people understand a seemingly impossible option. Forgiveness. The most beautiful and most difficult task to undergo- but once you forgive- you have taken a few steps closer to Him. The world becomes brighter with each occurrence of justice, forgiveness and mercy."

"What did you say your name was?"

"August." The hawk said bowing sincerely.

The mother nodded, "I don't think I can forgive you yet August, but I can at least respect you to some degree."

August smiled a bit, "A small degree is better than none at all."

The forest and wind slowly resumed their conversations. Reepicheep and Trufflehunter continued their route silently- not speaking a word until they reached their doorsteps. When the evening came and the sun touched the horizon, August left the mother blue jay with a remorseful heart still but a gained understanding of what grief and pain where as he made his way home to his perch. When he arrived there he bid his mate goodnight and fell asleep thinking to himself how beautiful the sunrise would be.


	19. Reaching for Apollo

_**Reaching for Apollo**_

"What are you looking at, Reep?" Lucy asked the mouse one night when he was visiting Cair Paravel for a gala.

It was a grandiose occasion, the women were dressed in fine linen and silk dresses and the men were cavorting around like drunk fauns on a weekend. All of this was for the welcoming of Kashmir, the King of the West, back to his second home.

At the moment, Reepicheep was sitting on the railing of a balcony. The moonlight sported its best radiance for the occasion, shining sapphire hues down on the mouse's fur. Reepicheep simply looked up at the stars with a smile on his face.

"The moon," he said, turning back to see a beautiful young woman with sable hair in a regal yellow dress, appropriate for the evening. "has anyone ever noticed your eyes?"

"My eyes?" Lucy asked, finding the question a bit awkward, almost flirtatious.

"A compliment, Your Majesty, nothing to fuss over." Reepicheep said, turning back around, "You have hazel, reminds me of my mother."

"Oh," Lucy stepped onto the balcony out into the moonlight, "what was she like?"

"To be honest, I don't know, I never knew her very well. I do remember her eyes though." he laughed inwardly, "Just goes to show I'm a sap when it comes to eyes."

"I think it's rather charming."

"Well, it is the most expressive part of the face." Reepicheep said, "Next to the mouth and laugh of course."

Lucy turned towards the moon, admiring it, and then, realizing that she becomes bored quickly, turned back inside, to the festivities, Peter and Edmund were currently playing a drinking game with Kashmir. The owl was winning.

"Why are you out here?" She asked, hoping to hear the answer of 'I just needed some fresh air' so that she could quickly exit and re-partake in the fun.

"Do you want the truth or do you want the clichéd answer?"

"Preferably whatever makes you feel better." Lucy said, a smile returning to her face.

The mouse turned back around, back to the moon. His tail causally laid over the rail, gasping at the sea wondering the expanse of it.

"I have always been fascinated with the stars and the moon. For who knew that a rock and bits of gas in the air could cause such inspiration. That's their purpose I think, to carry a weight of inspiration but not aspiration."

"Why is that?" Lucy said, combing her hair a bit and looking down at him, seeing an appreciative smile on his face.

"Dreaming of stars and desiring the stars are different. They can give you inspiration to continue forward, remind you of who you are and what you need to be. They cannot be the aim though, for they are simply stars and even they, who are in the vast expanse of space, have their limits." The mouse replied as he looked towards the vermillion light of the ballroom, seeing his friends socialize in their prime.

"Yes, but space is limitless." Lucy said.

"Seemingly limitless." replied the mouse, "I do not know where it ends, begins, or when it takes a break. The eye is only as powerful as the eye. We'll never be able to see all of it, but we will perhaps go beyond it one day."

"Do you think so?"

"My brother did," the mouse said looking back at the stellar hosts again, smiling as Saturn flickered a bit, "he seemed to believe that we all should inspire with the stars to reach somewhere greater, go someplace higher."

"Where is he," Lucy asked, looking out onto the sea, seeing the off-white reflection of the moon across the water, "your brother?"

"Dead, Your Majesty. Just like all the others."

"What do you mean, all the others?"

Reepicheep sighed, "I wonder if he knows I miss him."

"Reepicheep," Lucy said, "what do you mean when you said, all the others?"

"De fumo in flammam- out of the smoke, into the flame." He said, jumping from his place and landing on the balcony.

"Who started the fire?" Lucy asked.

"I wish not to talk about it," Reepicheep replied, "best keep to my own advice and move on."

Everyone took a breather, finding themselves a seat and refreshments.

"If you don't mind," Lucy said, "I'd like to go back in now."

Reepicheep smiled and bowed slightly, "I'm not stopping you."

She left the mouse to his affairs but as she reached the door, she turned back towards him. "Do you want to come inside?"

Reepicheep walked towards the door and into the room, his heart wanted him to look back at the moon again but he didn't. For he knew that if he did, he would never return from there and be subject to his own warning. As he walked over to his friends, socializing once again in the world of celebration, wine, and stupidity, Reepicheep slowly looked back anyway and smiled.


	20. Failures and Glories

_**Failures and Glories**_

* * *

It is rather odd to see you in the doorway of another house, if I am to be honest with you. Well, it is odd for me anyway. To think that you married only a year after our estrangement makes me wonder about the relationship all together, but then, when I look and see into your eyes, I behold a thing we never truly had- happiness.

Of course I like to believe that at least some of our years together were extremely happy, and if not extremely, then at least mildly so. I also like to believe that we were in love for most of those years as well, but I know both of those things- happiness and love- were never really there.

We never laughed and we were always reserved in my conservative upbringing. I was taught never to laugh unless a joke was told, and you simply laughed at everything that happened to me while I was preparing supper. I was taught to never be liberal in my finances, while you simply gallivanted in sprees of purchasing fine linens and provisions. I still think that if you have fifteen salmon taking up the entire cupboard, then you have an extreme fetish or plans to feed a hundred. I also find that if you do desire to have friends over at the house, please ask them to politely be obnoxious and rude outside, for, last I checked, we do have children to take care of. Or at least we did.

The problem was more than our habits. I was caught up in raising a group of three, you were spending time teaching others how to read and we were both bored. Bored of the same routine, bored of seeing the same person every day, and bored of saying those same three words without having them mean anything but an empty and pathetic way of saving hello and goodbye. Every morning we would rise from bed, look at each other, and wonder how we got here. You would always say:

"Good morning. How was your sleep?"

"The same it was the last time you asked me," I would reply-

There lies the root of it! All of our quarrels over whose turn it was to watch the children while the other slept, all constant cleaning of everything as if it were a contaminated fruit, and the awful days of anxiety and the nights of loneliness. It can all be traced back to me.

I tried to force my upbringing on you, and tried so hard to make you into a person you obviously were not and did not want to become. You most likely told me this time and time again, but most likely time and time again I dismissed it as some sort of excuse to not do something. I placed you into the machine my father built, and you simple did not work to produce a result. You were not compatible. Just like my mother was.

I guess that is the flaw the males in my family possess, militarism in every aspect of life. Come to think of it, it is just as daunting to maintain it as it is to live it. It is rather sickening now. To think that I was too busy holding a knife to your throat while you lead a group of youngsters in their lettering. In our most unhappy time together, I proved myself to be a defective person worthy of an early burial. I abused and neglected to aid you in your times of need and the more we were together the more abrasive our relationship became.

Now, to see at you again, I witness my failure and your glory. You escaped me, and thank the Lion's Mane for that.

If I were to tell you that I have changed, do not believe me yet. Perhaps sometime in the future, I will truly be changed and my father's ideals will die with whatever new perspective I gain, but until then, I suppose the best thing for me is to move on. You have already found the best for you, and I pray you continue to find all it is you look for.

Your husband extends his hand to me, and as I take it, I smile and say sincerely:

"Greetings sir, my name is Reepicheep, may I ask what you call yourself?"


	21. George's Box

_**George's Box**_

* * *

Why do you always insist on shouting at my door? There is never a dull moment with you, friend and to be frank with you, I wish there was at least one. Just one occurrence where I did not have to wake up to:

"Please, open the door for goodness sake!"

"Why?" I ask, "I know it's just one of your pranks, you insufferable idiot."

You'll huff, complain, and banter slightly, but all this can be cured with a pair of earmuffs. If only I had some. I believe I have to told, several times in a row in fact, that I do not wish to be disturbed before eight in the morning. It is only seven sixteen. Groggily, I walk over to the door and open it for some reason and lo and behold, you rush in unannounced, uninvited, and unpresentable. Not that I am all put together myself, but it appears that you simply rose from bed, sped yourself over here and are now panicking over some stupid trifle.

"What is it this time?" I ask you, rather annoyed but not necessarily angry for I understood that you are high strung and can be running a million mile race in your head while trying to remain reasonable at the same time.

"It's George," you replied, "he's alive!"

My heart stopped and skipped a beat or two and I could do nothing but smile and laugh. Dear sweet George was breathing again and I saw you cry slightly.

"He's alive- I…I can't believe he's alive."

"I most certainly can." I say, feeling my heart swell with the anticipation of seeing the miracle for myself. "Do you not believe in miracles?"

"I used to not to," you said, "but I believe I do. Come, he's expecting you!"

Without sparing a moment, I rush into the back room and retrieve something, a small wooden box with beautiful craftsmanship. Its content only known to me and George. For he and I placed them there and I have kept it safe for him. It was a simple thing, nothing fantastic, but when you're slowly dying from tuberculous, something so simple can instantly become the most important thing in the world.

Placing the box in a satchel near the door, I exited my house and did not even bother to shut the door all the way. I honestly would not care if someone took my possessions, for they can all be replaced again.

You simply could not take your eyes of me as we rushed to your house. Part of me wondered if you were being flirtatious or if you were searching for the same emotions you were feeling.

"You don't seem too excited about this." You say. "Is something on your mind?"

"If I'm being honest," I reply, "a lot things are on my mind, and one of them is-"

I stopped midway through, not because I lost my words, but because I lost everything else. Standing before me was little George, smiling from ear to ear. He held a small bag in his right and as he slowly walked over to us, he smiled as if to say that the long war was over.

To be honest, I have never seen you so happy, you were genuinely smiling. There was no more disease or worry anyone. Just last week you were writing his will, today you are writing his story for all to read.

He turned towards me and noticed my satchel. I opened it and retrieved the wooden box and upon opening it, George said nothing and embraced me.


	22. Avarice

_**Avarice**_

When Mister Napoleon died our entire community went to his funeral: the men out of respect for a fallen brother and the women out of respect for a suitor that cunningly escaped them. How he managed to lead six women and court three others is a mystery to me and isn't necessary important, but it does lead to questions such as 'how did he die so suddenly?'

My first supposition was that someone, namely his wife, Edith, killed him with arsenic, for there was a crate of it in the living room of their house with a rather disturbing label: rat poison. I paid no mind to it and continued with the customary ritual of walking over to the open faced coffin and placing a personally selected flower. For this occasion, I brought a pink cyclamen. Placing it properly and turning toward the widow who stood near the display, I said nothing and she embraced me out of faux sympathy.

"I'm glad you came today," she said, tears masking her obvious happiness. She held me rather loose, as if she were about to drop me. Her distance from my face and wandering eyes gave me the impression that my supposition was true. I wasn't about to make a show of it though, but I wasn't about to be a hypocrite either.

I didn't say how much of a grand person he was or that he will be missed. I hardly knew him so such sanctification from me would be lukewarm. Even if she wanted me to say something grandiose I would simply supply the truth and complement on the arrangement of the flowers or the amount of mourners that came, for you can always tell if someone was loved or hated by how many people arrive at the funeral. Usually, you can tell which camp people belong to by the way they react to the whole ordeal and by the looks of things, Napoleon had few condemners.

"At least he died happily." I replied. Not necessarily the answer I would have liked to have said but it was what I went with. Suggestio falsi seemed to be the lesser of two evils when compared to hypocrisy. In truth, Napoleon did die happy, in the end (for we all go happily) but the physical act of dying was skeptical. It was something of an enigma and it was one that was starting to peeve me because no one else seemed to be bothered by it. Apparently there is no cause for alarm when someone who was alive two days ago is now dead in his living room.

* * *

Looking for some type of solace in this madness was Trufflehunter. He was over in the corner soothing Miss Dover, an intellectual ferret who's main source of income was housekeeping. Her tears were expected, for she was the grandmother and losing your only grandson has to be abstruse on the psyche.

"There Miss Dover," Trufflehunter said with sincerity, "it isn't goodbye forever."

"Yes it is." She said.

"Don't you believe in Him?" The badger asked.

"What good is it believing in something that's never there?" She asked, face showing disconsolateness. It was as if she saw no end to this depression- seeing herself crippled in three years and dead in five. The badger smiled hypocritically. I could tell that Trufflehunter had no idea who Napoleon was- he never knew him, spoke with him, or even seen him before. The very idea of him being here was ludicrous and almost insulting. I had reason enough to issue personal reprimands against him. Glad I these thoughts to myself.

"The good in believing in something at all is beautiful don't you think?" Trufflehunter said.

"Beautiful is an understatement." Miss Dover replied. "He has abandoned me."

"No, He's testing you."

Miss Dover laughed spitefully, almost like a cackling shrew. "Some test. What does he want me to do, be miserable and never love again?"

Trufflehunter looked towards me, apparently my personal experience with grief and his lack of experience prompted him to believe that I was an expert grief counselor. I was actually happy to walk over for Edith was beginning to show signs of her foul play by being less and less mournful and more jovial about the whole business. Not that you can't be jovial at funerals, but Edith's jovialness was border line psychopathic. She looked towards Edna, almost reveling in her grief, as if Edna's misery was the reason for the show.

"What's going on?" I asked as if I didn't know.

"I've been forsaken!" Dover cried, eyes exploding into waterfalls. "There is no happiness to be felt here anymore." She dried her eyes.

"Maybe if I just do myself in the world would be brighter." She said.

"Death is never a resolve to death." I said quickly but as encouragingly as possible.

"Then what would you have me do?" She asked. "Grieving, by the way I see it, causes depression and depression leads to irrational thinking and irrational thinking is what killed George."

George Dover, a lawyer respectively, was one of those ferrets whose legal charismata outmatched his social skills. He was very introverted which (in my circles) seemed a bit off. I personally found it charming. To be honest, I laughed at Edna(Miss Dover)'s remark because George was the last person on Earth to think irrationally about anything. One time he made an meticulous report entitled "The Concepts of War and Battle Strategy" (which was splendid by the way- without that report the war would've been lost).

"Irrational thinking did not do Mister Dover in," I said, "it was the malicious act of a hunter."

Edna nodded, "Yes," she said, voice a bit distressed and disheartened that I had to mention her late husband. "I'm slightly dismayed at the fact that you smirk at his memory."

"On the contrary," I said, "I think it rather natural to reminiscence fond memories of someone. Your husband was a scholar as he was a prankster. Why, I remember a time when he got me believing I carried The Plague by growing 'deathly ill' whenever I was around him."

"Oh yes!" Trufflehunter said smiling, "I remember that very well. He was always one to laugh- at himself and everyone else. I'll miss that fellow."

Edna smiled a bit, it was as for a moment her grief had subsided and the world seemed relatively normal. "Napoleon wasn't too fond of him though," she said, "then again, he wasn't too fond of anyone really. Especially after-"

"Edna!" Edith called her over, "Would you come over here for a moment?"

She left and slowly made her way to the 'grieving widow'. Something in her stride told me that whatever it was that awaited her wasn't going to be pleasant. My tail swayed side to side, sweeping the floor as I entered deductive thought.

The coffin was filling up with flowers and the well wishers were dispersed in their own private circles of conversation. Edith was beside the catafalque standing there like some disappointed parent. Her eyes locked on Edna's soul, searching to destroy whatever hope or light that was left and convert it into contempt and resentment.

"Yes?" Edna asked.

Edith whispered something inaudible. Although I could not make out the words I knew the words weren't kind because when the conversation was over Edna started crying again. She turned and proceeded to walk back over, slower this time. She slouched her shoulders and let her feet drag behind her as if she were a walking corpse.

"What's wrong?" Trufflehunter asked. "What did she say?"

"I have to go now." Edna said gravely with almost no emotion whatsoever. "You won't see me tomorrow."

"What are you talking about?" The badger asked again, this time blocking her way. She looked up at him and her eyes spoke for her. Trufflehunter stood aside and looked toward me.

"I'll see her home and look after her till I get an answer." He said.

"Good," I replied, "I'll see if I can figure out what went on between them."

I watched him take Edna out. Call me cynical, but I could sense a blooming love between them. For every single person who hold hands the way they did ends up falling for each other- at least that's how fairy tales and legends work. All that was missing was a steady rain.

* * *

Mustering all the dignity and courage I possessed, I entered the field of battle, dawning not the blade but logic and reason as the weapon of choice. She smiled smugly, apparently understanding my reasoning for coming over with such conviction and ambition.

"So," Edith said, "come to defend all honor once again?"

I said nothing. Silence, I've learned, is the best resource when you don't want to be found out. Instead, I watched her eyes. They darted from left and right, attempting to find some type of safety- a corner to hide in, a person to look at, she found none and settled on me.

"I see, well," she crossed her arms, "I can play the silent game too."

"As much as I would love to I have some business to discuss." I said.

"Let's go into the back," she said motioning towards a hallway, "we can discuss it privately."

I looked around, the mourners were beginning to leave or talk about happier things such as the weather or dinner plans. "I see no trouble in discussing this here."

"I don't want this to be a public affair."

I smiled deceitfully and leaned in, grabbing her arm tightly for good measure- I wanted to get a message across. Trembling, she turned her head back to see if anyone would come to her assistance. No one did. They just kept to their side conversations.

"W-what do you want?" She asked.

"Answers to questions." I said. "What did you say to Edna to make her burst into tears like that? Surely it wasn't anything too polite."

"No," Edith said, rolling her eyes, "it wasn't."

"Mind repeating it for me?"

Edith shook her head. She was smarter than I originally perceived- she was not about to do anything that would incriminate herself. She pulled herself away, but I pulled her back, letting her know that I wasn't about to leave without the answers I came for.

She leaned down and whispered one of the worst remarks to ever graze the world. It was obscene, vulgar, blasphemous and so perverse that it made my stomach churn and my head spin. I swallowed my disgust and left her be, save for a few words.

"I hope you realize the severity of this." I said.

She walked towards her uncle, paying me no mind at all, loosing herself in her fiction of grief and misery.

"Are you alright?" Her uncle asked.

"Yes." Edith replied, turning back towards me, eyes speaking of fear. "I'm alright."

I walked towards her nonchalantly. I tried my best to give no hints of aggression or malice but nonetheless, she quickly made her way into the dark recesses of the hallway. At this, those who were still left, turned and looked to me as if I had committed sacrilege. The uncle in particular, took a step in defense.

"How dare you insult a widow with the dead present?" He asked me.

"How ignorance and arrogance blind you and make you innocent from the truth." I answered and followed Edith into the hallway.

* * *

The hallway was narrow, and like grief, darkness seemingly filled the place. Edith was at the end of it, crouching on the floor, hiding from the world like a cursed foundling. Hungry, poor, decrepit and yearning to be brought back into the realm of forgiveness and understanding, she cried weighted tears of regret and loss. Her eyes were closed, and as I approached, she hid her head from me, as if I were to be some demon to be feared.

"Go away!" She cried literally and figuratively.

I shook my head and sat down on the floor. "Why did you say that to her?" I asked.

"Because," Edith said, looking towards me a little but still concealing herself, "you were all laughing and carrying on happily. I wanted to remind her the reason why she was alive."

"You blackmailed her with no justification." I said. "That is cause for concern."

She nodded, "I know you think I'm crazy, most people do."

If that isn't the understatement of the year, I don't know what is. Looking at her again, I no longer saw someone who was psychopathic as well as extremely jealous and sadistic but someone who went astray some time ago and never realized it. I reached out for her again, this time, the gesture was not of deception or force. She took it the way I wanted her to and turned towards me. Her face was carved into canyons of heartache and epiphany.

"I never wanted it to be this way." She said. "I never meant to harm anyone. I just wanted to have a happy marriage."

She inhaled and exhaled, opening her eyes and seeing me there gave her the strength to embrace me, this time with sincerity. I embraced her back, accepting this as a sign of repentance.

"Oh what have I done?" She asked.

"You created a web of jealousy that goes beyond the boundaries of avarice in love and into the realm of Judgment." I said. "Whatever conspired between you, George, Edna, and your husband is not my concern, but what is my concern is your understanding of this: you will never be loved the same way again."

"I don't need you to condemn me." Edith said.

"Who said I was?" I replied. "I was simply stating facts."

I stood up after that and left the withering rose to the bed which she made for herself and walked out of the place, noticing a clean sword on the mantel piece, the crate of arsenic and Napoleon, who sat there dead with a smile on his face.


	23. PART FIVE

**-PART FIVE-**

**In Concerning the World of Man: Part III**

* * *

_**The Season of November**_

_The Cair Paravel Library_

A library is such a dismal place to have an interview in. Mostly because you can't read anything, you can't look at anything, you can't touch anything, all you do is sit and complain about how miserable your life is. Well, at least, that was my first impression when Peter Pevensie walked in holding a book of absolutely little or no significance to the conversation that we were about to have. I noticed that he wore a brown vest and matching coat as if he were already a professor of law or even worse, a lawyer. His hair was neat, his face was clean and his posture was defined and mature something that I appreciated considering his age of seventeen.

"Can you tell me about yourself?" Peter asked, sitting down in the chair across from me.

Certainly Mister Pevensie. I can tell you everything there is to know about me from my birth to my escapades as a youth to my expulsion from home to the very incident that brought me here to this very room in this very chair. I can even tell you how many pieces of hair there are in the entire universe but that would simply be a waste of your invaluable time.

"It would be." Peter said. "I do not care for stories of useless information at the moment. Now, tell me something- anything that comes to mind."

The night of November 13th 1937 was the night that Mister Nathaniel Baker of New York died of a heart attack. It wasn't necessarily a shock. The old man of seventy-three came from a long line of methamphetamine abusers so to say that his death was a surprise would be an understatement but to say that he was beloved was an overstatement. Generally hated and despised by the populace of the Bronx, Nathaniel Baker was anything but kind and sensible and if you were around at the time you'd feel somewhat psychopathic. As one gentleman pointed out:

_"It was like being a murderer. I felt spontaneously happy and succumbed with joy and youthful optimism."_

Youthful optimism wasn't even close to the sensation I was feeling. If that gentlemen were spontaneously happy then I was eccentric- mostly because I killed the poor man. My motives are of my own personal business so if you are playing Sherlock Holmes, don't bother because you won't convict me.

"I don't plan to, I'm just here to help." Peter said nonchalantly. He leaned back into his chair.

My name, which I have yet to mention, is Jefferson Swede. I hail from New York City and was born at the turn of the century. My parents, who were English by nature, came over from that wretched place to here on December 15th, 1884. It wasn't a war or a famine that they decided to come but rather a pair of cannibals were terrorizing everyone's minds- it was almost hysteria. I say almost because I wasn't the cause of it.

My mental disorder, which I have yet to mention, is a mixture of murderous psychopathy with schizophrenia. It all stemmed from my father's "late suicide", I say late because the poor son of a bitch should've done it years before he actually did. To be fair, he was an abusive drunk and the rope was just lying on the table pre-tied in a noose for several years. No one had the courage to do it- that is, until he shot my mother in the leg with the .22 caliber rifle that hung over the mantle. If you've ever experienced fury, it's an emotion that consumes the mind and body into doing extraordinary feats of merit and divinity. I released my wrath and chocked the poor soul of fifty-four. The only downside to the deed was that it was New Year's Eve. His pulse stopped at precisely midnight. It wasn't midnight and one second- but midnight exactly.

"Interesting." Peter said, "Can you tell me on how you came here?"

I entered this idiotic institution-

"You're not a mental patient, and this is not a mental hospital." Peter replied, leaning forward a bit and noticing my red tie, red shirt and burgundy pants.

"I see your very fond of red." Peter said. "You do know that red is a stressor."

"Wasn't aware of that." I said, lying to him of course.

"Tell me then how you came here- without the insults." He said.

Fine. If you insist. I entered this _place_ on November 13th, 1942. I'm sure you are aware of current _real_ world events Mister Pevensie.

"I am." He said.

Good, then you should be aware that just last month on the twenty-third of October the British Empire launched an offensive attack on the Germans and Italians and were victorious. However, you may not be aware of the death of Mister Ralph Rainger.

"No, I wasn't." Peter replied, "How sad, I rather enjoyed his music. Did he go well?"

Yes. If you call a plane crash in the Coachella Valley a well deserved death. The poor man had a wife and children I believe. They'll receive condolences from somewhere else.

"You won't give them yourself?" Peter asked, sounding rather surprised as if he were expecting me to make his work easy for him.

No I will not send a card, money or sympathy to his family because why would I have remorse for anyone? I'm not the one who's dead on the side of a mountain.

"You are a sick human being." He said, scolding me.

You asked for the truth Mister Pevensie, I am simply giving it. I am a psychopath and I'm surprised that you expect better from me. Do you expect that I can be converted back to sanity?

"I do."

Your attempts will be for naught I'm afraid. Just and noble as they are, there is no use in transforming my mind to think anything good or decent or morale. For all intents and purposes Mister Pevensie, it might be best to label me a demon and just leave me alone to die.

"I can't do that." His determination is admirable but alas, is naive. "Besides," he said continuing, actually believing his experiment would work, "you still haven't answered my question- how did you come here?"

I came to this place on November 13th, 1942, as I've previously stated.

"Yes," Peter said, "I have the date but not the means of travel."

I travelled via horse.

"On horseback, that is very interesting. Mind telling me about it?"

Certainly. I was in Germany making my way to Poland to see if I could mow down some poor souls along the way. I knew that if I were captured by Hitler's Legion then I would be shot and I knew that if I were captured by the Allies then I would be instantly enlisted and forced to fight for a cause that I despise.

"You do not approve of the war?" Peter asked.

Of course I approve of the war! What I don't approve of is humanitarianism.

"So you're an anarchist?"

As I've said you insolent twit, you might as well label me a demon and leave me alone to die. Keeping that bit of information in mind what do you think my view is on humanitarians and their ideologies?

"I think you're mentally unstable and mentally unstable people often do not know what they say when they say it."

You ignored the question. I would like an answer please. What do you think my view is on humanitarians and their ideologies?

"I think that you have resentment towards them, you fear that goodness in the world would render your psychopathic nature obsolete."

My psychopathic nature is human nature Mister Pevensie. For everyone, including yourself has a hint of psychopathy and the will to murder inside them. You are just too lofty in your precociousness and position to see that there is nothing mentally unstable or incorrect about my thinking. For I am always, one hundred- percent of the time correct.

"Only a psychopath," he said, "would say such a thing."

Which is why this session is such a pointless waste of time. Why don't you go back home to your family, live your life and explore the world for what it is- a sad, lonely, sick place with nothing for you except to live, breathe, die and fall into the arms of Ether. You'd make an exceptional politician, a terrible instructor of history and a beautiful husband for some deadbeat whore who never went anywhere with her life. So I say again Mister Pevensie, for all intents and purposes it might be best to label me a demon and just leave me alone to die. It is a fairly simple concept that even you, a bright intelligent and contradictory person can understand. If you cannot then I suggest you admit yourself to the nearest psychiatric ward. Are we done here?

Peter turned towards me and like a defeated swine nodded and escorted himself out. I smiled, laughed and said-

Don't forget to trip on your way out.


	24. Chapter 24

To think that mice are sentient beings capable of intelligent conversation is a ludicrous idea. Yet, much to my dismay, the Idiots of the Choir sent one in. The Mouse came in rather nonchalantly, as if he had been through this situation before. His smile was sickeningly optimistic and his cattle rod, which I presume he believes to be a sword, was so amusing that it actually made me laugh a bit. The Mouse heard me, for he looked in my direction and took his position in the chair that Peter sat in, standing up in it of course to see me better.

"Mister Swede," he said rather sternly, apparently my laugh set his balance of poise and happy demeanor off a bit. "I am here to administer what is called a PCL-R."

The Psychopathy Checklist-Revised by Robert D. Hare.

"Precisely." The Mouse replied. "If you could please answer the questions to the best of ability and as truthfully as you can then I can begin diagnosis."

I thought only a professional therapist could give diagnosis. Considering that you are a talking rat I doubt you meet the twelve years of higher education to even call yourself a doctor of anything. To be honest, you look more like a faux representation of Carl Jung than anything else.

"I'll take the compliments and disregard the rest considering that you are mentally unstable." He said. "But be warned though," he continued, "I do not give second chances often."

Admirable position and ideals for an individual who shouldn't technically exist. Interestingly you are about to give a very personal test and you have yet to introduce yourself. Is it because you are nameless, prideful, arrogant or stupid?

"Reepicheep is my name." He said this with a hint of narcissism- it was as if he were trying to get to me, make me see that he was on the same playing field. In truth, I could tell by the look in his small but surprisingly intelligent eyes that he suffered and was most likely going to administer the same test to himself.

"Alright, let us begin. How do you interact with people?"

Usually I tend to keep to myself when in large groups. I am extremely introverted but at the same time am extremely observant. For example, I know just from our brief time already that you have suffered grief recently. You have recently lost someone close to you or to be specific, a group of people that you deeply care about and you doubt where they went in terms of the afterlife. You understand or wish to understand the meaning of life and death but cannot fully grasp it for you know full well that it is beyond your control. Yet you still hunger for the answer.

"My personal experiences will not come into play at this time Mister Swede." Reepicheep said.

Please, call me Jefferson, it's more personal.

"Alright then, Jefferson- you have said and I quote that you are 'extremely introverted but at the same time are extremely observant.' Are you like this consistently or just in groups?"

Consistently. I find that observation is part of human nature and it helps me perform my work.

"Speaking of your work," he said, "how would you describe your profession in terms of how it contributes to society?"

Murderous psychopathy is a noble and honorable profession. It requires an understanding of the habitual nature of people- their comings and goings, as well as the mind and how it perceives thought and emotion. Sometimes the best psychopaths are psychologists because they understand what they are doing and can put rationale thinking to so called "lunacy and absurd reasoning". In short, I see my job as a contributor to society because I force people to think about their lives, about their own role in society. I am a Robin Hood among a sea of Sheriffs, Reepicheep. Even you, a simple rodent must be able to comprehend that.

"I do," Reepicheep answered, "very much indeed."

Which is why I told Mister Pevensie, everyone is capable of murderous psychopathy, he's just too lofty in his preciousness and position to see past the Lighted Veil. You are very different in the mind Reepicheep, you could be very persuasive in changing their opinions of me.

"I am only here to administer an exam," Reepicheep said, looking at me as if he possessed some sort of power, which was in truth, laughable. "now if you don't mind- how do you feel about yourself?"

I find myself extremely likable, intelligent and highly sophisticated.

"Are you being egotistical or are you telling the truth?" The Mouse asked.

Both.

"Do you suffer from the phenomena known as pseudologia fantasica, otherwise known as compulsive lying?"

I am the definition of pseudologia fantasica, for that is my name- as I'm sure you are aware of this statement by now, you might as well label me a demon and leave me alone to die.

"You said that as if it were supposed to mean something." He said.

It means everything. It is the defining chapter of my life, the only being and recognition I have left in the world. It is the very thing that keeps me alive, keeps me going. I understand that I am to die, and I understand that I am to be tortured for the crimes of my father. I also understand that if I do anything benevolent then I am to be "Death's Minion" which is, to be technical, an insult of the highest caliber.

"I've always assumed Death to be a veil creature."

Nonsense, he is the most benevolent demon in the universe. He is often called The Angel That No One Wants Around.

"Amusing. Do you find yourself being a puppeteer?"

You mean, do I use people to my own advantage?

"Yes, if you want to go simple."

My dear fellow, I am the Grand Puppeteer! I have shaped politics, started wars, defeated men and lifted up the evil of mankind. How do you think Death is employed so often? It's because of me and my doing. I am the Father of Destruction, the Master of Hell, the Damned River Styx. Some call me Lucifer, some call me Beelzebub, in truth I am both and have deceived the world into thinking that I don't exist. The Idiots of the Choir are too blind to see who they are interrogating. I hope you are not.

"So you are, pardon the pun, the literal Beelzebub of the situation then?" Reepicheep asked.

Yes, and do not pardon the pun, I rather like it. I think I may use it.

"Do you ever feel guilt?"

Never. Guilt is a human emotion and human emotion is something that I am incapable of truly comprehending. I can mimic it all I want to- but if I were to be completely honest with you, I cannot feel guilt, love or grief. Ironically, I can feel pain and misery, I guess those are what some people call Demonic Attributes.

"There is no such thing as Demonic Attributes, only Vices and Virtues." He said, rather reassuringly. It was as if he wanted to save my soul, poor fellow. He does not understand that I am bound forever in a state of fire and malice. I guess shows his human sentience- his misunderstanding of pagan and sacrilegious practices and his even greater misunderstanding of divine consequences for those who do said practices.

"Would you generally describe yourself as emotional?" He asked.

What a very simple question to answer. I am generally calm and collective but there are times, such as these, when my time is wasted, that get me peeved. What is the point of this session Mouse, you and your cohorts are aware that I am a psychopath already.

"Just taking formalities," Reepicheep said, "we want to be sure of things. The last thing we want to do is convict someone who isn't deserving of it."

I can tell you right now that I am deserving of it but nevertheless you will not convict me.

"Why is that?"

Because you simpleton, I can manipulate the human mind into whatever I want it to do. I could literally kill you with a fingernail. The problem of the matter is that I killed a man and you believe me to be mentally insane- which I most certainly am- but what you fail to realize and comprehend is that I am a demon, an evil entity, something that isn't necessarily welcome in good well mannered circles.

"Then if you are unwelcomed here then why bother to show up?" Reepicheep asked. "I mean if you are what you say you are then logically speaking you would be dead for no one who speaks of evil can walk through the halls. So why take the risk?"

If I told you that I wanted to change, would you believe me?

"Considering you've just stated that you are compulsive liar, no."

Good, keep believing me in that sense, because I am the one person in the entire universe that cannot be trusted with benevolence. The only real thing of merit that you can count on with me is that I will at some point die.

Reepicheep turned towards me as if he were seriously concerned. I knew just as well as he did that he didn't really, he just wanted to ease whatever contradictions my brain was currently having.

"Have you ever contemplated or attempted suicide before?"

If I were to say yes, would you believe me?

"Yes."

Then you have all the information you need. Do you have any more questions for me or are we done here?

"I have more questions but they can wait, for now, I believe you can be allotted fifteen minutes for lunch."

With that Reepicheep left. He didn't speak, he didn't look in my direction- he just stared at the floor as he walked. It was as if pity had overtaken him. It seems that my device of sympathy is working for my sob story made him forget one thing- I'm a compulsive liar.

* * *

The first words this naïve simpleton asked me were, "How was lunch?"

Fine, it wasn't spectacular, but it was suitable for me.

He pulled back his hair, which was long and rather feminine in nature. To be honest, his entire face was. Perfect skin, perfect eyes, and the perfect smile every regent of the realm ought to carry. I was about three seconds from throwing up all over the floor at the sight of this wretched creature. Oh, don't get me wrong, he was presentable and extremely honest and such, he was just so detestably neat. The only normal thing about him was that he didn't dress pompously. So far, Peter had the disposition of a lawyer, the Mouse that of an astute (but easily deceivable) therapist and then there's this fellow, who came off as a simple man who was secretly a perfectionist.

"Good," he said, taking the empty chair and smiling at me the best he could.

It wasn't difficult to see that he didn't necessarily want to be in this situation with me. Either he knew who (or more important what) I was, exactly what I did to get me in this situation, or simply the facts that were already acquired previously and 'the new ones' that Reepicheep so stupidly fell for. One, I'm a psychopath. Two, I murdered an innocent man. Three, I'm a demon. Three very simple things that aren't that hard to comprehend yet these Idiots of the Choir insist on making it an investigation. It's not like I killed any of _them_. The poor soul was, as previously stated, a mutually hated resident of the Bronx. So the question I proposed was-

Why do you care so much about an innocent life being murdered- one that you have never seen, met or have ever come into contact before?

"An innocent life is a life." He replied. "Also, you showed up laughing, cursing, screaming and gallivanting like a drunken idiot."

Happiness for a demon is very drunk. It's not pleasant because you cannot control yourself- if you fall on a rock, you bleed. If you look at the sun, you burn. There is no solace in this world- only under earth and in shade can I be invincible. You also forgot to mention that I was conversing with someone, someone extremely important to the operation of World Domination.

"Who was he?" He asked.

What a stupid and obvious question. It was like he wasn't even trying to think.

"The puppet of course! If I am the Great Puppeteer then who is the puppet?" I asked.

He gave no answer, either he sincerely didn't know it or he was that much of a dolt. I rolled my eyes. "Do you know nothing of current affairs?"

"Affairs of here, yes, but nothing of human world. You would have to get Peter, Edmund or Lucy to converse about that. Now back to the session," he said, "this man, this Nathaniel, why did you kill him?"

Why does anyone do anything anymore? Why do you breathe? Why do you eat? Sleep? Comprehend literature? Compose music? It's a natural thing to do. Those who live breathe, eat and sleep and those who are musically inclined compose symphonies of grander and sophistication. So ask me that question again. I dare you, I tell you, you shall get the same answer. Why does anyone do anything anymore? Because they very well can you simple moron!

Caspian smiled, either he was insulted or amused. I could tell which, it was obviously a bit of both, but I let my conscious play a game with myself and let his smile continue on in silence for several minutes.

"What did Nathaniel do to you?" He asked after ten minutes of smiling.

He did nothing. That's the joy in it. That's the nature in it. The fact that he was completely innocent of me is the reason why I did it! There! I gave myself away, I confessed, I presented to you what you wanted. I am a jealous person who wants the entire world to know my name, hear my voice and tremble at the sight of me! I also want you to die because you are sir, the most moronic, idiotic, stupid looking person I have ever met in my entire life. You are obviously a naïve push over who believe full heartedly that they are the supreme egotistical ruler of the universe. Well congratulations! You have succeeded in being Baal. You have convinced the world that you are the center of the universe and just like the Babylonians; your people shall fall and die with the Fires of Israel. Or, in layman's terms, you are a terrible leader who deserves to be beheaded.

"So in other words you believe I am incompetent in my position?" Caspian asked.

Well of course you are! I shouted.

Look at you, a King should not be dressed simply, but regally. He should carry himself dutifully to the course of success. You are the essence of failure! No wonder you wanted this position so badly, you wanted the perks because it's the only position in this god-forsaken place that actually lets you live! You have absolute rule but you don't use it, you have underprivileged people but do not privilege them, I mean a Mouse as a Page, how ridiculous and preposterous a thing. Are you running a zoo or a country sir? Are you running a government or an anarchical democracy?

As I ranted on, Caspian just stared and pretended to look interested. At least, that was my initial thought.

"For the record," he said, leaning in his chair, "Reepicheep is not preposterous but pompous. There is a difference- one that I'll admit to, for frankly, he can be quite overbearing but he means well. He _is_ a therapist after all."

I huffed at this.

"As far as my running of things, have you properly assessed and observed the details, the funds of my administration?" He asked. "Have you taken polls, surveys and collected data like any sociologist or psychologist (which is what you call yourself so I hear) would do? Or are you making idiotic and malice filled assumptions because you have nothing better to say or do?"

To use the phrase "Damn, you just got served" would be an understatement here. I was cooked, fried and consumed.

What do you want sir? I asked.

"Simple," he said, "the reason as to why you killed an innocent man. The _real_ reason please, for Reepicheep tells me that you are compulsive liar."

He speaks true of me. How do you know what I'm about to say will be true or not then? If that is the case then you have no choice but to except everything or nothing as true. Either way, I will still be interviewed and interrogated by you people, which I find so detestably annoying.

"If you find us so detestably annoying," Caspian said, "then why even bother complying? If you are what you say you are then why do all of this?"

Reputation and recognition sir, that's what this is about. I personally could care two shits about an innocent man being killed by me, I kill innocent man all the damn time. Why does this one particular person matter to you?

"It matters because it matters to Edmund," Caspian said, "if you wish to speak to him about this I can send him in."

That would be preferable. So to be clear, nothing came of this session?

"Yes," Caspian said, "something did come of this. The fact that you hate me is quiet clear."

He stood and exited with a smile on his face. As he walked through the door he turned towards me and said, "The feeling is mutual."

I laughed to myself.

So he's intelligent _and_ a jackass? I thought.

That's hilarious. Sickeningly hilarious.


	25. The Blue Jay and the Robin

_**The Blue Jay and the Robin**_

* * *

"Well, it seems that you conduct business well King Caspian," Aslan said, as he stood in the hallway, "it seems I was right about you."

"Right about what, sir?" Caspian asked.

"Why," the lion said with a smile, "the simple fact of choosing the right person." He left the library.

For several weeks now, Aslan had been visiting Cair Paravel to see how Caspian was running things, from what he gathered everything was functioning perfect save for one incident.

"Aslan!" Someone called.

The lion turned around and beheld a boy of twelve who like most twelve year old children, had a sense of eagerness amidst the waiting of results.

Nikiv Popov, a recent entry into this world, was wearing brown trousers, white shirt and brown vest. His hair was unkempt but hair tends to be that way when one first awakes from a nap.

"Is he back yet?" Nikiv asked.

"No, but he should be here relatively soon."

The boy nodded. He wasn't satisfied but at least there was an answer. "Do you think my father's alright?"

"I don't know," Aslan answered, "but I do know that if he has something to live for and something to believe in that even if something were to happen then he would be safe."

Nikiv's eyes darted straight into the lion's, and Aslan noticed that Nikiv's blue jay pin, the one his father gave him, was slowly starting to come off his vest.

"You may want to readjust that pin of yours." Aslan said.

Nikiv looked down, "Oh yes, thank you."

The lion nodded in response and turned back around towards the empty hallway.

* * *

"Can I please have a drink of water?"

"A drink of water, is that what you want?"

The boy who asked the relatively simple question nodded. Water, a basic necessity that is so easily obtainable, is taken for granted in places where light never reaches the Earth.

"I'll give you water."

A man in a black iron pressed military suit exited the building and closed the door behind him, leaving the child and the rest of the prisoners in hellish darkness.

Block 11 smelled of feces and mildew that morning as people who barely had enough room to stand readjusted themselves.

"Hey," a prisoner said, "can you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."

"Sleep is useless in hell." The person disturbing him said.

"Hell is a strong word isn't it?" A voice asked rather matter-of-factly.

The two prisoners laughed.

"Moi droog," the first one said, "I don't think you know where you are."

"I was told a prison. I take it by your accent and use of phrase that you're Russian or at least Slav?"

"Valery Popov," the man said, "to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"You can call me a friend for now, we can discuss my name later."

Man re-entered the room not bothering to close the door, letting light spill into the floor giving just enough light for Valery to see that he was talking to a mouse.

"Who was it that wanted water?" The man asked, a small cup in hand.

"I did sir."

The man turned, seeing a boy in a urine stained work uniform standing in a cell with a woman who appeared to be somewhere in her late thirties.

"Did you ask for this?" The man leaned down and performed the devil's torture, placing the cup just out of his reach. The boy got down on his knees and carefully stretched out his hand. He could just barely touch it.

"Come on," the man said condescendingly, "reach for it!" He laughed, stood up and spitefully kicked the cup away, spilling that sweet elixir onto the floor. He turned for the door.

"You can turn on your little lights now." He said, and closed the door once again.

With a flip of switches, small halogen light bulbs gave each person some light. You couldn't read in it but you could at least see what was in front of you.

"So," Valery said, turning towards the mouse, "you're a-"

"You might be better off if you just stop right there sir."

"Oh sorry, didn't mean to offend." Popov replied.

"No trouble," the rodent smiled, "just tired of that idiotic phrase." He turned towards the door seeing the boy's hand still reaching out. "If you'll excuse me for one moment."

He scurried over to the cup and gently pushed it so the boy could reach it.

"There's not much left I'm afraid." The mouse said, a bit disheartened.

The boy took the cup which still had a drop of water left, and handed it to his mother, who was like him, dressed in urine stained work clothes and had unkempt hair.

"Thank you," she said, turning towards both of them.

The mouse bowed in respect as usual. The boy turned back towards him.

"I've never met a talking mouse before."

"Well," the mouse replied, "I've never met someone so selfless. May I ask your name?"

"May I ask yours?"

"Reepicheep," the mouse said, bowing again, "and you are?"

"Isaac." The boy answered.

Reepicheep smiled and laughed inwardly a bit, "Do you bring joy to your house?"

"I'm sorry?" Isaac asked, a bit confused, finding the question a bit odd.

"Do you bring you bring joy to your house? Laughter, amusement, something to look forward to?"

"I don't think I understand."

"It's what your name means," Reepicheep said, "laughter, joy. Bet you didn't know that."

"No," Isaac said, "I didn't. What about you, does your name mean anything?"

"Not really." The mouse said. "I'm almost certain a islander came up with it."

"Why is that?" Isaac asked.

"Because only an islander could come up with such a name."

The mother sat the cup down, her hands a bit shaky and her eyes sleep deprived but nevertheless a smile of curiosity and hope was on her face.

"Do you like your name Reepicheep?" She asked.

"I wouldn't change it if that's what you're implying." The mouse said, "If I were to guess yours I'd say it was Sarah."

"It is." She said. "How did you know that?"

Reepicheep shrugged, "Call it a lucky guess, stroke a genius, what-have you."

He looked a bit more closely at the two of them, something about Sarah's eyes and shakiness made him search for a reason. He turned to Isaac and noticed a similar problem. Both of their eyes were tired, their hands were shaky and in a certain light, their skin was slightly discolored in some areas.

"May I ask a few questions?" Reepicheep asked.

"Only if we get to ask some." Sarah said.

"Fair enough, do you want me to go first?"

Sarah nodded.

"How long as it been since you've last eaten?"

"Three days." Valery called. "It's been three days since we last saw food. If you don't hurry someone might snatch you up."

Reepicheep laughed, "I highly doubt that."

"You'd be surprised." Valery said.

"So," the mouse turned back to the pair, "it's been three days since you've eaten and how long has it since you've bathed?"

"Three months." Sarah said. "That's how long we've been here."

She turned away for a moment to cough up blood and mucus. She rolled up her sleeve revealing a serial number on her forearm: A19013. Isaac stretched a moment and gravity being what it was, his sleeves rolled down just enough for the mouse to see the number '1' crudely tattooed on as if by an amateur.

Across the hallway a man was mumbling a hymn to himself in Hebrew. Reepicheep could not see him, for the lights were dim but he could hear him and from he guessed it wasn't a good song to be singing.

"Does anyone know what that man over there is saying?" Reepicheep asked.

"We walk the streets of silence." Valery called over again. "It's something he sings whenever an execution is about to take place."

"Does he have psychic abilities or something?" The mouse said believing it to be a fiasco.

"I think so." Valery said.

Sarah and Isaac looked up at their light bulb, it was slowly but surely going out.

"Why are you here Reepicheep?" Sarah asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her hands together.

The mouse stood silent. He felt that his answer would prompt a chain of rage, excuses and resentment. Instead, Reepicheep walked back over to Valery.

"Mister Popov," the mouse said, "I am pleased to tell you that your son is safe."

Valery's chest moved down, "I've been waiting for some good news like that for a while now."

"Well it's here." Reepicheep looked up at the cell lock, deciding whether or not he should pick it or not, nevertheless, he pulled his blade anyway.

"May I ask a personal question?" Valery asked.

"As long as it isn't offensive." Reepicheep said, scaling the cell door.

"Why?"

"Why what sir?" The mouse said, reaching the lock and fitting his blade into the keyhole.

"Why the sword, the feather, _you_ in the first place?"

Reepicheep laughed as he turned his blade's hilt, using it as a lockpick, "Having trouble with the whole talking mouse thing?"

Valery nodded.

"Well," Reepicheep said, pausing a moment to listen to the lock's mechanics, "think of this way: you're in a cell in a prison that barely feeds and bathes you, you're sitting decrepitly, and I just told you that you're son was still alive. I personally don't think you care if I'm a talking mouse or not. I could be a talking moose and you'd still listen to me because you so desperate that you'll believe anything. Is that right?"

"Well you don't have to be so condescending about it." Valery said with a huff.

"Apologizes sir," the mouse said, "but to be fair, you did ask."

"Touché."

The lock clicked open. Reepicheep, blade in hand, jumped down to the floor.

"Well," Reepicheep said turning towards Valery again, "what are you waiting for. Let's go!"

"I somehow knew it would be that."

Reepicheep turned and saw Isaac, looking at him as if he had placed him and his mother there. The rodent sighed and although it wasn't the first time he played someone off like this, it was the first time he didn't mean anything by it. Out of respect, the mouse walked back over.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I only came for him."

"Let me guess," Sarah said, "you can't take anyone else with you."

Reepicheep nodded, "That is the situation at the moment."

Sarah laughed out of insanity. "The situation at the moment," she said, "is that we're dying in this fucking hell!" She beat her hand up against the wall, not caring if it bled. Her tears were like weights and Reepicheep was straining to hold it up.

"You know," Isaac said over his mother's grief, keeping consistent eye contact with the mouse who couldn't stop staring at Sarah.

"I'm perfectly okay with it. Being forgotten again. That's what they all do anyway."

"Those who forget are fools." Reepicheep said.

The door opened again. The same man as before entered. He strode into the place as if he commanded the world.

"Stop that crying!" He shouted, having half a mind to open the door and beat her down. Instead he grabbed the cage and shook the bar, sending a rattling sensation of fear down to Isaac's spine. Reepicheep curled himself up next to the large door and noticed a Colt .45 revolver in the soldier's left hand pocket.

"I said, stop that crying!" The solider shouted, his German accent butting in a bit. Sarah wouldn't stop, she was to heartbroken and too weak to care. All she wanted now was peace and with Reepicheep's denial of salvation she was content to have any sort of escape.

"Do you want this to be how you die?" The German asked, pulling the revolver out.

"Yes!" Sarah screamed. "Just kill me now so this evil can end!"

"Very well." The German aimed his weapon and fired without blinking. He turned towards Isaac.

"Because of her insistence," he said, "you shall join her." He aimed his weapon and out of spite slowly applied pressure. Isaac didn't flinch, he didn't move, he just looked him in the eye, and admittedly, Reepicheep smiled as he slowly stood up about to take the defensive end when he heard Valery call him over.

"Friedhold!"

The German moved his pistol slightly to the right, wasting a bullet to the wall.

"Who calls?" Friedhold asked.

"It's me you idiot." Valery said.

The German turned militantly towards Popov's cell and walked towards it.

"What is this gate doing open?" Friedhold asked, wolf-like eyes staring deep into Valery's calm veristic face.

"It wasn't locked properly." Valery said. "Now do yourself a favor a leave the boy alone."

"Oh yeah," Friedhold replied, edging him further, "what happens if I don't Rabbi?"

Valery turned towards where he perceived Reepicheep to be, he was three seconds from having a pistol barrel in his face and was not looking forward to that pit in the yard.

"Then a certain someone isn't going to be happy."

Friedhold looked towards his left shoulder, noticing that Reepicheep stood there blade extended pointing to the most lethal part of the neck- the jugular vein.

"Alright," Friedhold said, seeing no room for cooperation, "you win." He sheathed his holster but th mouse did not sheath his blade, for he had the right to be suspicious.

Friedhold turned towards the door, whistled and cried, "Kilian!"

A man who appeared much younger than he was rushed to the door. He wore a similar dress as the other German save for a helmet.

"Lead them to the showers." The German said.

"Yes sir." Kilian replied. "Everybody up on your feet!"

Reepicheep sheathed his blade. "Good, you finally have some common sense."

"Thank you for noticing." The German said.

Kilian unlocked each person's door and filed them single-file in a line. Valery was somewhere in the middle while Isaac lead the group. Reepicheep took advantage of the opportunity to jump onto Valery's shoulder.

"Alright," the mouse said, "now's our chance to get out of here."

"I don't think that's going to happen Reepicheep." Valery said, voice less optimistic as he exited the building.

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll see." Valery said.

They exited. Fathers, brothers, sons, mothers, sisters and daughters left the abyss of malice and entered the unwelcoming light. It also conveniently began to rain.

They passed the ancient domiciles of workers who were just as lame and desperate as they were. As they slowly made their way toward the barracks and kitchen, Reepicheep saw a large fence, a large empty ditch and noticed a very pungent smell.

"Smells like rubber." The mouse said. "Is someone making something?"

"You could say that." Valery replied.

A train pulled in slowly. Crowds of mass confusion and ordered chaos could be heard as they continued toward their destination.

Reepicheep noticed that people did not have any luggage to speak of but were dressed in their seemingly best clothes."Curious," the mouse said, "as to why no one brought luggage with them. I'm assuming they issue some clothes out."

"You could say that." Valery repeated.

Snow began to fall gently onto the ground like some petty assurance.

"A bit warm for snow." Reepicheep said. "Must be your climate."

Valery nodded, "You could say that."

Isaac approached a building labeled 'IV' and walked through the doorway. Everyone else followed suit.

"I bet you are looking forward to this shower," Reepicheep said once Valery sat down on a bench and began undressing, "but we still have a chance to get out of here."

"No we don't Reepicheep." Valery said. "Not me anyway."

"Again," the rodent said, "what are you talking about?"

Valery sighed, "You'll see."

A man who looked slightly better than the majority of the group opened a large steel door on the other side of the room. People flooded in like sand in an hourglass, Valery and Reepicheep included.

"Well," the mouse said climbing back on Valery's shoulder, "if you have to be packed like sardines then you have to be packed like sardines, am I right?" He laughed at his humor.

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you." Valery said.

"Why, what's got you so worried?" The mouse asked.

Isaac, who was toward the back, fought the flow of traffic to make his way to the front.

"Get me out of here!" He screamed.

"I'm sorry," the man operating the door said, "but I can't let you go."

"I don't want to be here!"

"Do you think I like this job?" The man at the door said. "I hate it, but I like being alive so I do it, now if you'll excuse me."

He slowly shut the door, Isaac pushed his weight up against it, fighting the system. The system was winning. Reepicheep jumped from shoulder to shoulder and in one fluid motion, severed the doorman's big toe and stuck the landing. He and Isaac slipped through the crack in the door and with a little bit of intimidation the man continued to hold the door open.

"Mr. Valery!" The mouse called enthusiastically. "Time to go!"

Just as they had did once before the Jews rejoiced in their deliverance from evil. They were so thrilled that no one had the strength to move, even if they wanted to they couldn't anyway. Hence the problem of hourglasses. Too many grains of sand going in too small an opening.

Isaac grabbed his clothes and began putting them on. He was almost dressed and ready to bolt out of the room and back toward his cell when he heard fatal footsteps.

Friedhold entered the room with the sole intent of murder. "You," he said, looking at the doorman, "what happened to your toe?"

"Ask the rodent!" The man said.

Reepicheep stood there smugly, "I take it you didn't hear me when I said that I would be very unhappy."

"I take it that you didn't hear me when I said I don't give a shit." Friedhold said.

He raised his pistol, aimed it, fired, and waited.

The mouse said nothing except walk slowly towards Isaac who lay slumped on the bench. Blood dripped onto the floor like rain does on a sidewalk. Reepicheep looked up at him, this boy who was as beautiful and innocent as a robin and touched his hand.

"Do you bring joy into your house?" The mouse asked.

He received no answer.

Friedhold raised his pistol again, aimed, fired, and waited. Reepicheep raced over to the door just as it shut.

"Mr. Valery!" He called.

"He can't hear you." Friedhold said.

Reepicheep turned towards him, "Why can't he?"

The German laughed, "You'll see."

Screams of regret, fear, remorse were followed by shrills of panic, confusion and a fierce thunder.

"Reepicheep!" A voice called from inside.

The mouse rushed over to the door and scaled it. "Valery, is that you?" He asked, positioning himself between the door and the lever that held it shut.

"Tell my son," a breath, "that I- love him."

Reepicheep began to push, extending himself as much as he could, using his hind legs for leverage. Three beats on the door in succession.

Friedhold laughed, "So begins the age of German supremacy."

Reepicheep fell to the floor, the strain was proving too much. "Misery Valery," he said softly, "I'm so sorry."

Friedhold laughed again, "You apologize to dead men. How sweet."

"The dead live through those who live." Reepicheep said, "He, they," he slowly stood up, "every single of them were better men than you."

Friedhold shook his head, laughing a bit more. "I can't believe you fell for their so called 'sympathy'."

Reepicheep rolled his eyes, "They weren't wyvrens you idiot."

"Oh," Friedhold said smiling, "then what were they then?"

"Human beings." Reepicheep said very matter-of-factly, "I don't think you grasp the concept of it. For if you do, then you wouldn't be standing here."

"Where would I be standing then, rat?" Friedhold asked.

Reepicheep's eyes grew about three sizes. He pulled his blade, charged and mercilessly attacked him. When the solider was on the ground the mouse got into his face and spoke in a voice not his own.

"You dare demean me to that?" Reepicheep said. "I am a mouse, and to answer your question _sir- _" he aimed his blade at the man's jugular vein, there were no sympathies this time. "You should be standing in that room," he let the blade pierce the skin, blood slowly trickled out. He continued:

"Sleep in the dark recesses that you call swift justice and starve in the room you built." He slowly moved his blade deeper, cutting into tissue and ripping muscles. Friedhold was still alive- but just barely.

"Take your justice," the mouse said, "and die with it." He finished the rest in one sweep of the hand.

* * *

"I wonder what's taking him so long?" Nikiv asked.

"Well he's going to a very dangerous place," Aslan said, "it could be hours before he returns."

Nikiv turned towards the library, seeing that Caspian was reading a book on seafaring and that Peter was engrossed in one about Narnian political law.

"I hope he's alright." The boy said. "He seems likeable."

"That's because he is." Aslan replied. "He should be here any moment now actually."

The mouse appeared via adjacent hallway. His face was unexpressive, his eyes were colorless and his pride was gone. There was no question that he was a very different mouse.

"Sire." Reepicheep said, bowing at the lion's feet as he should.

"Did you find him?" Aslan asked.

Reepicheep nodded. "He is home."

"So," Nikiv said, "is he dead?"

The mouse said nothing. He simply looked at him and reading him like an open book said. "It's perfectly fine to cry."

"I know," the boy said, tears forming, "I just wanted to see him." His mind formed excuses and his eyes were blinded by tears. He gave in, getting down on his knees and admitting to the fact that his father, his blue jay, was no longer there for him.

"He was all I had left." Nikiv struggled to say. "I'm all alone now."

"If you were alone," the mouse said, "then you'd be in an empty hallway."

Aslan placed a paw over Nikiv's shoulder and almost instantly the boy collapsed into the lion's mane. "Am I meant to live like this forever?" Nikiv asked.

"No one is meant to suffer forever." Aslan said. "One day this will all pass."

"But until that day comes," Reepicheep said, "we must stride forward, eat hardy, and never surrender."

"Well put sir." Aslan replied, "I shall leave you to talk among-st yourselves." He walked down the hallway.

When he was far enough away the lion let his tail drag the floor, allowed his heart to break and permitted tears to fall from his face. The mouse watched his master leave as his famous for doing, noticing a trail of tears leading down the hall and out of the place.

Caspian entered the hall, a piece of paper in hand and a glass of water in the other. "Come on Nikiv," he said seeing the boy's tears, "let's see what the others are up to."

Nikiv looked to Caspian then to Reepicheep and seeing the mouse just stand there staring out into space, walked over to him, took a knee and spoke. "Are you going to be alright?"

Reepicheep nodded, "I think so."

Caspian led Nikiv down the opposite end of the hallway. As they were just about to turn a corner Reepicheep turned their direction and followed slowly. "The statement has been given, the message is clear." He said.

"What message?" Caspian asked, turning towards Reepicheep with curiosity.

The mouse looked up at him, his eyes grieved for the world and he still felt like he was there in that place, "We cannot live like this anymore." He walked on ahead, entering a courtyard and proceeded to find the nearest white poppy.


	26. The Blue Jay and the Robin Redux

**_The Blue Jay and the Robin (Redux)_**

* * *

I was told once that cherished memories shall never go unfazed or become devalued. For they are precious to the mind, important to the psychological health and instantaneously, with each fond one we grow a bit closer to quintessence. With each sunrise, with each song sung by a blue jay we receive justification that hope is possible and that life can endure. That's what I was told by a fellow named Nikolay Kiselyov, in August of 1942.

I suppose to you I would be called Death, the Grim Reaper, and the Angel No One Wants Around. But to the Narnians, I am merely a threshold, a doorway, a key to salvation and they have given me the name of Thanatos.

The morning of December 10th of that same year (1942), the same morning that the first shipment of Polish Jews arrived at Auschwitz, was the same morning that Aslan, Lord Principium of Narnia, visited Caspian to discuss business affairs. It was a casual meeting of short conversation, nothing significant was said and to be honest I was more focused in Southeastern Poland than anything. If I were to be completely honest with you I would say that Southeastern Poland was my lover and the affairs of Narnia were simply my child yearning for attention which I dutifully ignored.

"Well, it seems that you conduct business well King Caspian," Aslan said, as he stood in the hallway, "It seems I was right about you."

"Right about what, sir?" Caspian asked.

"Why," the lion said with a smile, "the simple fact of choosing the right person for the position." He left the library as he were leaving an adjourned Senate, regal and confident, clairvoyant in all future things. For several weeks now, Aslan had been visiting Cair Paravel to see how Caspian was administering the land, from what he gathered everything was functioning perfect save for one incident.

"Aslan!" Someone called.

The lion turned around and beheld a boy of twelve who like most twelve year old children, had a sense of eagerness amidst the waiting of results. Nikiv Popov, a recent entry into this world, was wearing brown trousers, white shirt and brown vest. His hair was unkempt but hair tends to be that way when one first awakes from a nap.

"Is he back yet?" Nikiv asked.

"No, but he should be here relatively soon." The lion answered.

The boy nodded. He wasn't satisfied but at least there was an answer. "Do you think my father's alright?"

"I don't know, but I do know that if he has something to live for and something to believe in that even if something were to happen then he would be safe."

Nikiv's eyes darted straight into the lion's, and Aslan noticed that Nikiv's blue jay pin, the one his father gave him, was slowly starting to come off his vest.

"You may want to readjust that pin of yours." Aslan said.

Nikiv looked down, "Oh yes, thank you."

The lion nodded in response and turned back around towards the empty hallway.

* * *

The night of December 10th, 1942 bore the longest silence in human history. No one was alive. Even those people who were constituted as breathing, living souls had nothing to live for. In a span of six hours all hope, all reassurance of security and safety were diminished by a single look of three words that created the most believed lie in the world. I can tell you this, during this time I was busy. I was so busy in fact, that I hadn't the time to look down on the souls there and apologize for my negligence. Apologize for my lack of attention on them. I heard the pleas, the cries, wanting the mercy of God. The depressing news is that I can administer it, as instructed, be the reaper for them, forbid anything else from happening to them and just haul them to the Lord in a big loving embrace and say "Here they are, let them be with you". But I can't. I can do no such thing. I was kept at bay. I was told to "Wait!" So I did. I waited. I waited and prayed that someone, anyone would realize the brainchild of Adolf Hitler, Heinrich Himmler and the Damnable Council of Wannsee and put an end to all our miseries.

Believe it or not, my prayer was answered in the form of a simple question:

"Can I please have a drink of water?"

"A drink of water, is that what you want?"

The boy who asked this relatively simple question nodded. Water, a basic necessity that is so easily obtainable, is taken for granted in places where light never reaches the Earth. Yet, this simple question, a question of reassurance and hope, gave me something to latch on to. Even though he could not see me, I turned to this child and wanting ever so much to give him what he wanted. A simple drink of water.

"I'll give you water."

A man in a black iron pressed military suit exited the building and closed the door behind him, leaving the child and the rest of them in darkness. I rarely ever come into the public view, for I think it not my place- but on occasions such as this, where humanity is threatened specifically by means of manipulation and faux salvation, I have the tendency to get myself involved.

"Hey," a prisoner said, "can you keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."

"Sleep is useless in hell." The boy answered.

"Hell is a strong word isn't it?" A voice asked rather matter-of-factly. The owner of this voice, a person, well, being of respectability, was someone whom upon seeing made my heart feel somewhat at ease. I knew if there was one individual who could instill some vigor in these people, it was him.

The two prisoners laughed.

"Moi droog," the one who asked the other to keep it down said, "I don't think you know where you are."

"I was told a prison." Said the crusader, "I take it by your accent and use of phrase that you're Russian or at least Slav?"

"Valery Popov," the man said, "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"You can call me a friend for now, we can discuss my name later."

The German re-entered the room not bothering to close the door, letting light spill into the floor giving just enough light for Valery to see that he was talking to a mouse. I sometimes wish that I could be seen in light, because if I could then that would make my line of work simpler and easier to grasp. No wonder I'm always portrayed as a dark, cynical, and sadistic- I work in "The Evil Realm" when I would much prefer the other. It is a shame that I have to be restricted to it and this person, this German of idiocy, was free to do as he pleased. Granted, he was human and lived in the world as all humans tend to do. But theoretically he was invading my space, and even though I am not fond of it, it is still my territory of expertise. Unfortunately, it was also someone else's.

"Who was it that wanted water?" The man asked with a small cup in hand.

"I did sir."

The man turned, seeing a boy in a urine stained work uniform standing in a cell with a woman who appeared to be somewhere in her late thirties. This boy, whose name was Isaac was someone whom I had been unfortunately well acquainted with. I do not like causing Grief, for that is not my pseudonym and in truth, is heartbreaking to see. It wasn't like it could be helped. The boy's father, whom I called Vestige because of an interesting tattoo he had on the right knee, succumbed to scurvy and typhus one month prior. His mother, the woman accompanying him, whose name was Sarah, was very biblical. She had the disposition of a mother who did not approve of her husband's administration of life. She knew of Vestige's past drinking binges and extravagant galas and narcotic drug use that in his former line before this, was commonplace and weekly. She knew of this and resented him for it. Even now in hell she resented him for it and she posed the same resentment and pent up aggression towards the German solider- whom I knew to be a fellow of discontent anyway.

"Did you ask for this?" The man leaned down and performed the devil's torture, placing the cup just out of his reach. The boy got down on his knees and carefully stretched out his hand. He could just barely touch it. It was here that I wanted to kill that sadistic militant brat but I knew my place and there is such a thing has timing.

"Come on," the man said condescendingly, "reach for it!" He laughed, stood up and spitefully kicked the cup away, spilling that sweet elixir onto the floor. He turned for the door.

"You can turn on your little lights now." He said, and closed the door once again.

With a flip of switches, small halogen light bulbs gave each person some light. You couldn't read in it but you could at least see what was in front of you.

"So," Valery said, turning towards the mouse, "you're a-"

"You might be better off if you just stop right there sir."

"Oh sorry, didn't mean to offend." Popov replied.

"No trouble, just tired of that idiotic phrase." The mouse turned towards the door seeing the boy's hand still reaching out. "If you'll excuse me for one moment."

He scurried over to the cup and gently pushed it so that Isaac could reach. The simplest kindest in the world and I was glad to witness it.

"There's not much left I'm afraid." The mouse said, a bit disheartened.

The boy took the cup which still had a drop of water left, and handed it to his mother. She behaved as if it were the fountain of youth- there wasn't a moment's hesitation as far as consumption. Although I knew the water was bitter I also knew that to her it was sweeter than honey and more sustainable than the meager light or the ability to stand.

"Thank you," she said, turning towards both of them.

The mouse bowed, following his credo. Isaac turned towards him (as well as me) with fixation.

"I've never met a talking mouse before." He said.

"I've never met someone so endearingly selfless. May I ask your name?"

"May I ask yours?"

"Reepicheep," the mouse said, bowing again, "and you are?"

"Isaac." The boy answered.

Reepicheep smiled and laughed inwardly a bit, "Do you bring joy to your house?"

"I'm sorry?" Isaac asked, a bit confused, finding the question a bit odd.

"Do you bring you bring joy to your house? Laughter, amusement, something to look forward to?"

"I don't think I understand."

"It's what your name means," Reepicheep said, "laughter, joy. Bet you didn't know that."

"No," Isaac said, "I didn't. What about you, does your name mean anything?"

"Not really." The mouse said. "I'm almost certain a islander came up with it."

"Why is that?" Isaac asked.

"Because only an islander could come up with such a name."

The mother sat the cup down, her hands a bit shaky and her eyes sleep deprived but nevertheless a smile of curiosity and hope was on her face.

"Do you like your name Reepicheep?" She asked.

"I wouldn't change it if that's what you're implying." The mouse said, "If I were to guess yours I'd say it was Sarah."

"It is." She said. "How did you know that?"

Reepicheep shrugged, "Call it a lucky guess, stroke a genius, what-have you."

He looked a bit more closely at the two of them, something about Sarah's eyes and shakiness made him search for a reason. He turned to Isaac and noticed a similar problem. Both of their eyes were tired, their hands were shaky and in a certain light, their skin was slightly discolored in some areas as if I were trying to take them too prematurely.

"May I ask a few questions?" Reepicheep asked.

"Only if we get to ask some." Sarah said.

"Fair enough, do you want me to go first?"

Sarah nodded.

"How long as it been since you've last eaten?"

"Three days." Valery called. "It's been three days since we last saw food. If you don't hurry someone might snatch you up."

Reepicheep laughed, "I highly doubt that."

"You'd be surprised." Valery said.

"So," the mouse turned back to the pair, "it's been three days since you've eaten and how long has it been since you've bathed?"

"Three months." Sarah said. "That's how long we've been here."

She turned away for a moment to cough up blood and mucus. She rolled up her sleeve revealing a serial number on her forearm, A19013, as if she were part of a series of sardines being packaged, sorted and shipped out into the expanse of the world only to be discarded and placed into the trash. No one, not even in the right mind would eat sardines. Isaac stretched a moment and gravity being what it was, his sleeves rolled down just enough for the mouse to see the number '1' crudely tattooed on as if by an amateur whose only reputation or justification or certification he has for being a tattoo artist is simply calling himself that. If a man who is not certified calls himself a doctor and operates on a mother giving birth he will surely kill one or the other. The most likely outcome of that hypothetical but not impossible to grasp scenario- one hundred percent fatality. Just like everyone else. The only difference being there is that the human mind believes it can do my job when it simply wasn't meant for it.

Across the hallway a man was mumbling a hymn to himself in Hebrew. Reepicheep could not see him, for the lights were dim but he could hear him and from he guessed it wasn't a good song to be singing.

"Does anyone know what that man over there is saying?" Reepicheep asked.

"We walk the streets of silence." Valery called over again. "It's something he sings whenever an execution is about to take place."

"Does he possess psychic abilities?" The mouse asked believing it to be a fiasco.

"I think so." Valery said.

Sarah and Isaac looked up at their light bulb, it was slowly but surely going out like their hope. I was beginning to step in, even though I didn't want to. I wanted to give Reepicheep time. Time to collect their hearts and mend them before I took their souls into Blessed Ether. As previously stated I do not wish to cause Grief especially to people like Reepicheep whom I consider an asset in preserving willpower.

"Why are you here Reepicheep?" Sarah asked, closing her eyes and rubbing her hands together.

The mouse stood silent. He felt that his answer would prompt a chain of rage, excuses and resentment. If he spoke truthfully it would, but if he spoke roundabout it still would. Lying, that is simply more deception which is something that these people do not need more of. I turned towards him.

_Tell them the truth. _I said.

He wisely said nothing and excused himself. "Forgive me a moment," he said, "I have to see if everyone else is alright." He scurried back over to Valery.

"Mister Popov," the mouse said, "I am pleased to tell you that your son is safe."

Valery's chest moved down, "I've been waiting for some good news like that for a while now."

"Well it's here." Reepicheep looked up at the cell lock, deciding whether or not he should pick it or not, nevertheless, he pulled his blade anyway.

"May I ask a personal question?" Valery asked.

"I don't see why not." Reepicheep said, scaling the cell door.

"Why?"

"Why what sir?" The mouse asked, reaching the lock and fitting his blade into the keyhole.

"Why the sword, the feather, _you_ in the first place?"

Reepicheep laughed as he turned his blade's hilt, using it as a lockpick, "Having trouble with the whole talking mouse thing?"

Valery nodded.

"Well," Reepicheep said, pausing a moment to listen to the lock's mechanics, "think of this way: you're in a cell in a prison that barely feeds and bathes you, you're sitting decrepitly, and I just told you that your son is still alive. I personally don't think you care if I'm a talking mouse or not. I could be a talking moose and you'd still listen to me because you so desperate that you'll believe anything. Is that right?"

"Well you don't have to be so condescending about it." Valery said with a huff.

"Apologizes sir," the mouse said, "but to be fair, you did ask."

"Touché."

The lock clicked open. Reepicheep, blade in hand, jumped down to the floor.

"Well," Reepicheep said turning towards Valery again, "what are you waiting for. Let's go!"

"I somehow knew it would be that."

Reepicheep turned and saw Isaac, looking at him as if he had placed him and his mother there. The rodent sighed and although it wasn't the first time he played someone off like this, it was the first time he didn't mean anything by it. Out of respect, the mouse walked back over.

Feelings of lowness and pity are nothing something I am used to dealing with. Usually it falls to Gabriel, who whispers in ears and tells people of the just and moral thing. I usually just wait and watch until you are ready and take you where you are needed. I do not deal in emotions. However, this was something that even a being like me couldn't help but intervene with. I stepped inside the prison cell and placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder. I told her that the world needed her to continue living but she did not listen. Psychotherapy only works when people to the psychologist.

"I'm sorry," Reepicheep said, "but I only came for him."

"Let me guess," Sarah said, "you can't take anyone else with you."

Reepicheep nodded, "That is the situation at the moment."

Sarah laughed out of insanity. "The situation at the moment," she said, "is that we're dying in this fucking hell!" She beat her hand up against the wall, not caring if it bled. Her tears were like weights and Reepicheep was straining to hold it up. I was straining myself from committing murder for I could feel her heart break and beat and burn with the willingness to die but yet- something stopped me.

"You know," Isaac said over his mother's grief, keeping consistent eye contact with the mouse who couldn't stop staring at Sarah.

"I'm perfectly okay with it. Being forgotten again. That's what they all do anyway."

"Those who forget are fools." Reepicheep said.

The door opened again. The same man as before entered. He strode into the place as if he commanded the world and me to believe that this was normal. Judging by the fresh mud on his boots, it was raining.

"Schluss mit dem Geschrei!" He shouted, having half a mind to open the door and beat her down. I secretly wanted him to then, I knew that if he did, I had justification for murder and thus be as evil as Lucifer- which is someone I will not stoop down to. Instead he grabbed the cage and shook the bar, sending a rattling sensation of fear down Isaac's spine. Reepicheep curled himself up next to the large door and noticed a Colt .45 revolver in the soldier's left hand pocket. I already knew that it was there and for Isaac's sake I wish he would have used it more.

"I said, stop that crying!" The solider shouted, his German accent butting in a bit. Sarah wouldn't stop, she was too heartbroken and too weak to care. All she wanted now was peace and with Reepicheep's denial of salvation she was content to have any sort of escape. A reason to fall into my arms and be carried out of hell and into heaven.

"Do you want this to be how you die?" The German asked, pulling the revolver out.

"Yes!" Sarah screamed. "Just kill me now so this evil can end!"

"Very well." The German aimed his weapon and fired without blinking. Sarah fell gently to the ground. I held up her head, smiled a bit and escorted her home. As I did my required post the German turned towards Isaac.

"Because of her insistence," he said, "you shall join her." He aimed his weapon and out of spite slowly applied pressure. Isaac didn't flinch, he didn't move, he just looked him in the eye, and admittedly, Reepicheep smiled as he slowly stood up about to take the defensive end when he heard Valery call him over.

"Friedhold!"

The German moved his pistol slightly to the right, wasting a bullet to the wall.

"Who calls?" Friedhold asked.

"It's me you idiot." Valery said.

The German turned militantly towards Popov's cell and walked towards it like a general about to punish a private for speaking out of turn.

"What is this gate doing open?" Friedhold asked, wolf-like eyes staring deep into Valery's calm veristic face.

"It wasn't locked properly." Valery said. "Now do yourself a favor a leave the boy alone."

"Oh yeah," Friedhold replied, edging him further, "what happens if I don't Rabbi?"

I keep forgetting that Valery was a former priest. He was already committed to God and all he had to do was die. I will gladly give him admission to whichever realm he chooses. The former priest turned towards where he perceived Reepicheep to be, hoping that the rodent would provide some sort of solace in this.

"Then a certain someone isn't going to be happy."

Friedhold looked towards his left shoulder, noticing that Reepicheep stood there blade extended pointing to the most lethal part of the neck- the jugular vein.

"Alright," Friedhold said, seeing no room for cooperation, "you win." He sheathed his pistol but the mouse did not sheath his blade, for he had the right to be suspicious as all men do when faced with the literal incorrect personification of me. I do not know why I am perceived as demonic entity of spite and maliciousness. I do know why people die. I do know why people like Reepicheep exist. I do know- I just choose not to make a career out of my knowledge of goodness. That is His job and he does a great job at doing it.

Friedhold turned towards the door, whistled, "Kilian!"

A man who appeared much younger than he was rushed to the door. He wore a similar dress as the other German save for a helmet. The dog, Kilian, walked towards his master as if he were carrying a leash in his mouth wanting to go for a walk in the park.

"Lead them to the showers." The German said.

"Yes sir." Kilian replied. "Everybody up on your feet!"

Reepicheep sheathed his blade. "Good, you finally have some common sense."

Naivety is such the intellectual's downfall as much as it is the fool's. If I were to tell the mouse of the reality he would pass it off as folly. He did not call me rational then.

"Thank you for noticing." The German said.

Kilian unlocked each person's door and filed them single-file in a line. Valery was somewhere in the middle while Isaac lead the group. Reepicheep took advantage of the opportunity to jump onto Valery's shoulder. I filled in right behind Mister Popov.

_Earth to rodent,_ I whispered, _time to am-scray._

"Alright," the mouse said, for once adhering my advice, "now's our chance to get out of here."

"I don't think that's going to happen Reepicheep." Valery said, voice less optimistic as he exited the building.

"What are you talking about?"

"You'll see." Valery said.

They exited. Fathers, brothers, sons, mothers, sisters and daughters left the abyss of malice and entered the unwelcoming light.

Passing through the courtyard a man wearing a coat, his prescribed uniform and a robin pin. He was Ermenegilde Favre, a Frenchman who went to Germany at the wrong time of year. Two months ago he was a shoemaker- making beautiful leather apparatuses for children to wear. His face, which was calm and unafraid caught my attention- for even in the face of me, there was no fear. Ermengilde knew. He was clairvoyant and understood that he was to die here in the face of me. As the group marched on to meet me later, I stood and watched as a German officer walked to the center of the square. His boots sloshed around in the mud like a pig and also like a pig the German called in his tongue for the Monsieur Favre to turn around and face a wall of block cement. He raised his rifle and counted only to two. As the German placed his finger on the trigger, Favre turned around and said his final words:

"I am a Frenchman."

The officer fired. Regardless, due to physics, Monsieur Favre would impact the concrete. Like the Liberty Bell which produced a crack, so did the cement which also produced a crack. Two months ago Monsieur Ermengilde Favre was a shoemaker- making beautiful leather apparatuses for children to wear.

They passed the ancient domiciles of workers who were just as lame and desperate as they were. As they slowly made their way toward the barracks and kitchen, Reepicheep who was still on Mister Valery's shoulder, saw a large fence, a large empty ditch and noticed a pungent smell.

"Smells like rubber." The mouse said. "Is there a factory nearby?"

"You could say that." Valery replied.

A train pulled in slowly. Crowds of mass confusion and ordered chaos could be heard as they continued toward their destination. Two lines were made, an officer directing one, a truck, directing the other. One towards the barracks, the other towards a group of trees. Apparently no one in Valery's group noticed that they were also headed in the same direction, towards the same group of trees.

Looking out through the fence, Reepicheep saw mothers and their children walking with no luggage and no means of hope. He saw the sick, the elderly, the weak, the young and the infant all in a single file line. I was in the back of that single file line. I put my hands against a widow, giving her comfort that her grief shall be over soon. I shut the eyes of children, for I did not want them to see and I did not want them to know and I did not want them to die. I looked towards Valery and noticed his blue jay pin was gone. I looked past him and the group and saw Monsieur Favre being dumped and burnt as if he were in an incinerator.

Snow began to fall gently onto the ground like some petty assurance.

"A bit warm for snow." Reepicheep said. "Must be your climate."

Valery nodded, "You could say that."

Isaac approached a building labeled 'IV' and walked through the doorway. Everyone else followed suit like a group of ants. Forever circling, never knowing that eventually one day they will die if they keep it up. As they entered, the single file line of mothers and children merged with them.

It was here that I began to cry.

"I bet you are looking forward to this shower," Reepicheep said once Valery sat down on a bench and began undressing, "but we still have a chance to get out of here."

"No we don't Reepicheep." Valery said. "Not me anyway."

"Again," the rodent said, "what are you talking about?"

Valery sighed, "You'll see."

A man who looked slightly better than the majority of the group opened a large steel door on the other side of the room. People flooded in like sand in an hourglass, Valery, Reepicheep and I included.

Naivety is such the intellectual's downfall as much as it is the fool's. If I were to tell the mouse of the reality he would pass it off as folly. He did not call me rational then.

When the people were inside and all could be fit in, the door closed. The life, the last chance of breath, had been and had been over. I was about to get very, very busy. I arranged myself to be in the shadow of a room, for I could no longer stand next to anyone and when the hatch opened I heard Lucifer laugh.

They screamed. They pleaded. They asked me to take them. I did. I gladly did. I gladly welcomed them, all of them to me and quickly released them to the Blessed Ether. I watched and I stood horrified as those who still believed that they could live contorted themselves into manifestations of the German stereotype of them. Ugly, deformed, demonic, sadistic, thieving capitalists, corrupt politicians, unholy priests, prostitutes and bastards.

Valery slowly succumbed to me. Falling ever so slowly to the ground like a drop of rain on a window pane that only goes down with friction. Reepicheep was less enthusiastic but he was quick to go. His soul meet mine.

I was told as a rule that I can only give up three persons. I had already given up one. Her name was Anastasia. Even though she technically is not alive today, I gave her soul up to the mourners. It is through them that she lived on. The second, this time, was a conundrum. Give it to the father or give it to the rodent. I assessed that Valery, despite his son wanting him so badly to come home, was willing to go. I ushered him in, saying that it might be best to watch over both Nikiv and Reepicheep for a while, at least until someone else can fill the guardian angel spot. I gave Reepicheep back. I shall reserve the third for another time.

* * *

When he gained consciousness, the mouse looked around and beheld my stillness, my requiem and in this he cried and in this he cried and in this he cried. The fathers, the mothers, the sons, the daughters, the bankers, the businessmen, the police officials, the gardeners, the caretakers, the lovers, the disabled but the gifted, the strong, the weak, the just, the wicked, the representation of Europe and the populace of the world. This and more stood and mine and Reepicheep's feet and this and more stood at the hearts of the angels and this and more and this and more and this and more. From the steps of the Reichstag to the steps of the White House to the steps of the Winter Palace- the voices of this and more were heard and only the angles, Reepicheep and I seemed to notice, and only the angles, Reepicheep and I seemed to notice.

If I were to tell the mouse of the reality he would pass it off as truth. He called me rational here.

The door opened again. This time, a man by the name Oswald Ludwig Pohl, stood in the doorway with Lucifer's smile clear on his face. Reepicheep, tears flooding his eyes, looked up at Pohl and stood as tall as he could. He whispered.

"I'm sorry," Oswald said, in a heavy German accent, "what was that, I couldn't hear you?"

Reepicheep repeated his phrase a bit louder, but it was still inaudible to hear.

"You're going to have to speak up!" Oswald shouted, being half sarcastic.

The rodent scolded him and repeated his words a third time. "Damn you," he said, "Do you want me to say it louder?"

Oswald laughed. "Please, do."

"Damn you!" Reepicheep shouted, advancing this time, repeating the phrase louder and with more conviction with each stride. "Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you, _damn you all to hell!_"

He jumped to the ground and stood out of reach of the doorway, keeping his stare of malice intact. Oswald laughed again, this time a bit more hardy, like an evil Christmas elf.

"What are you going to do mouse?" He asked. "Kill me?"

Reepicheep said nothing. He simply jumped onto the man's shoulder, whispered into his ear and exited. When the mouse was out of the room, Pohl laughed again, this time like a cackling hyena on laughing gas.

Following Reepicheep back to his entry pointed, I noticed that his demeanor was somber and grave. Forget the fact that he passed on and I admitted him back, he was physically and mentally changed.

By the time Reepicheep reached Block 11, the rain had stopped and another execution was taking place in the courtyard. He was Illich-Svitych, a Russian who visited Warsaw at the wrong time of year. Two months ago he was a retired banker- handing money to respectable people, closing bank accounts, and opening new ones. Just as Mister Favre had done, Illich-Svitych turned towards the German officer and said nothing.

Reepicheep was half tempted to thrust himself in front of the bullet and let it take him. Be the martyr for someone. He quickly realized that his sacrifice would be for naught.

The German officer fired.

* * *

"I wonder what's taking him so long." Nikiv asked.

"Well he's going to a very dangerous place," Aslan said, "it could be hours before he returns."

Nikiv turned towards the library, seeing that Caspian was reading a book on seafaring and that Peter was engrossed in one about Narnian political law.

"I hope he's alright." The boy said. "He seems likeable."

"That's because he is." Aslan replied. "He should be here any moment now actually."

The mouse appeared via the adjacent hallway with me in tow. Reepicheep said nothing as he passed superiors and colleagues. He continued down into a room and in this room he cried and in this room he cried and in this room he cried.

I was told once that cherished memories shall never go unfazed or become devalued. For they are precious to the mind, important to the psychological health and instantaneously, with each fond one we grow a bit closer to quintessence. With each sunrise, with each song sung by a blue jay we receive justification that hope is possible and that life can endure. That's what I was told by a fellow named Nikolay Kiselyov, in August of 1942.


	27. The Lighthouse in the Storm

_**The Lighthouse in the Storm**_

_Cair Paravel_

Outside, a pine tree elegantly swayed in the rain like a ballet dancer. The Orchestra of Nature made a beautiful crescendo as the rain and wind caressed the tree into their arms, twirling and twirling into a spin of fierce beauty and passion. The ballet was _The Storm_.

Nikiv Popov lay in the California King bed in a spare room that was much bigger than his own at home. The graying sky from the storm caused the walls to close in and the ceiling to collapse. The bed shrunk and the change of clothes that were laid out for him on the chair disappeared. Looking into the mirror that hung on the wall across the room, Nikiv saw not himself, but a former shadow. His face was there but he was grayer. His eyes were dry, his cheeks were wet and his hair was matted into knots. He also wore a long sleeve shirt over a t-shirt.

Laid across the bed before him was his father's blue jay pin. Even though Nikiv had picked up this pin a million times, this was the first time it felt weighted- too heavy to bear and too impossible to lift.

Sitting up, Nikiv placed his hands on the large comforter and let it slowly advance to the pin like a lioness stalking prey in the savannah. The roughness and ridges of the comforter reminded Nikiv of the hills that surrounded the estate which he grew up. He closed his eyes and felt the crisp autumn breeze from coming from the Northern Plains of Russia. He heard the naked boroughs of trees battle against the wind as a woodpecker condescended work on his house. He saw a slight snowfall coat the ground with pure innocence and benevolence- as if it were the quintessence of everything. There was no fury, there was no ambiguous ending to the story, there was just simplicity- a world without complications and stress. A world that Nikiv missed and was never in to begin with.

Tears fell like a weighted coin does to the ground- quickly- and when it impacts, the ping and scarring is the loudest in the world. It was so loud, the Doppler Effect reached the ears of Reepicheep who was walking down the hallway outside Nikiv's room heading towards the library. He was headed to a meeting with Caspian and Kashmir, the King of Milland (the independent kingdom in the Western Wild) to discuss the next step in defense measures. The Second Winter wasn't going to be easy for anyone and to say that it was déjà vu would only be true to nature.

The Mouse stopped in the doorway and looked into the spare bedroom. It was a domicile of dust, decay and discrepancy in a city of uncertain future and a populace of misunderstanding souls. Nikiv bowed to his grief, his knees were underneath him and his head was down on the mattress. The blue jay pin, Reepicheep noticed, was underneath the bed. Tarnished by the death of the man who wore it, the pin's gold finish was darkened by the shadow of the bed- a hope lost in fear.

"I didn't even say goodbye to me." Nikiv said in between his sobbing. "How could you leave without saying goodbye, don't you love me?"

He rolled himself over and took a few deep breaths but tears overrode the attempts of calmness and tears fell again. He sat up _and_ looked out the window. The ballet was reaching a climax, the part where the main antagonist comes on the stage. The pine tree buckled under the weight of the storm- there was no support from the wind and rain this time around. It was just the pine tree and her trunk and roots against the forces of resentment and instability.

"He always hated storms." Nikiv said. "Always thought he would get struck by lightning."

He stood and walked slowly to the windowsill. Placing his hands on the latch, Nikiv opened the window and thought about how high it was from the ground and taking in the factor of the wind, how far his body would go into the forest to be forgotten and decompose without any bother. The rain poured in, masking the tears and soaking his shirt and face. The rain sprayed the floor and bed and the wind rustled the curtains and bedclothes in a fierce fury. Nikiv submitted to fear and screamed out to the storm.

"Why did you leave me to be alone!"

Slowly, Nikiv leaned over the edge out into the storm, using the windowpane for balance. He jumped off the floor and slowly pushed himself further and further into the outreaches of space, seeing nothing but rain and a tree who loved ballet. His fingers slipped a little as water eased the friction, and for a moment Nikiv considered going into The Realm of the Souls Who Doubted but when he looked back into the room he noticed a small unmoving aegis in the doorway.

"How much did you see?" The boy asked as he placed his feet back on the floor.

Reepicheep approached nonchalantly and as you would expect a mouse to approach someone. As he passed the bed, he scurried over to the blue jay pin and grabbed it in his mouth- it tasted like a tarnished penny. Nonetheless, he walked to the wall with the window, scaled it and placed it on the windowsill.

"Enough to be concerned." Reepicheep said.

Nikiv nodded and looked out into the storm again. The tree was straight again, the antagonist died on the stage and the harmony between the wind and rain resumed.

"There's nothing to be concerned over," Nikiv replied, "just wondering how high this window is from the ground."

"I can tell you that," the Mouse said, looking at the boy's eyes, noticing that Nikiv's hazel irises carried a hint of misty gray. It was a sign of blindness or a lack of ESP. "I don't think you would like my answer."

"Why is that?" Nikiv asked, blinking a bit.

"Because it isn't an answer I would like to give. By the way, your brooch was on the floor."

Nikiv reached out for it with trembling hands and a slow approach.

_He's too afraid to see the grace and beauty of it._ Reepicheep thought. _The grief, trauma, or sheer thought must be devastating. To have it be the last and the first link to a person makes it difficult to bear I suppose. _Nikiv's fingers hovered over the pin and wanted so much to embrace the last remains of his father's, the urn that carried the name Vasily. A voice inside his head told him to cry, told him to jump out the window and told him to give in to his sorrow- to make the pain easier.

"It's alright," Reepicheep said smiling a bit, "I just wanted you to be aware that you still have it."

The Mouse looked out the window and saw the dancing pine tree. The ballet was coming to a close, the wind was tiring out and the rain gently sounded against the trees, bringing out the sweet smell of pine and cedar. A woodpecker worked on a maple tree in hopes of obtaining sweet sap. Steady and heavy raindrops fell onto the windowsill. Nikiv withdrew his hand from over the blue jay, allowing it to see the beauty after a rain storm. Nikiv looked out the window again.

"Beautiful isn't it?" The Mouse asked.

Nikiv nodded but said nothing.

"To think," Reepicheep continued, "that you were going to vault over and out a window and miss it. Tis a shame it would be. For the record, had you done it I would have rushed ahead."

"No you wouldn't have." Nikiv said. "You would have stood there, shut the window and went on with your business."

"Is there no substance in friendship? Do you have no trust in me? Have I failed you so much that you devour my body like a beast hunting in the dark? Whatever this malice be I rebuke it. Whatever this grief be I rebuke it also!"

Reepicheep advanced, his eyes searching for a reason and his heart begging for Nikiv to open up to him. "I would have gone before you because I consider it a shame to go through grief alone. If it takes my death for you to see that grief is only a moment in passing then so it shall be."

"If grief is a moment in passing, then it passes slowly." Nikiv said.

"Usually it does but only because it's meant to." Reepicheep replied, "Grief passes slowly because it's making room for hope. The best remedy for grief is hope and the best acquirer of hope is belief."

"I guess faith is left out of the 'cure depression equation'." Nikiv said, reaching for the window panes and shutting them finally. Reepicheep moved out of the way, even though there was really no reason to.

"On the contrary," Reepicheep replied, smiling a bit now that the window was closed. "Faith is the foundation of this 'cure depression equation'- good choice of words by the way- but then, not really because depression isn't a disease- or rather, the common definition of a disease. It's more of a psychological problem that occurs when grief overpowers the brain's will to grieve properly. It's very similar to a fire. If you are the fire and grief is the wood then you will slowly burn through it and rise above it, much like a flame does. Then sometimes, more wood is piled on, creating stress and anxiety- but if you're in the care of a great pyromaniac- then you will be fueled back to health."

"Seems like my pyro's out of commission." Nikiv said. He glanced at the blue jay pin, taking notice of the tarnish that was on the bird's face that resembled a tear drop. Reaching for it again, he moved a bit faster and boiled up the strength to clutch it in his hand. "He said that it was good luck." Nikiv said, turning towards Reepicheep, "What good is it in terms of luck when you die with it on?"

The Mouse sighed, the question had been asked before in many voices, languages and tones, all of which he could verbally and intellectually understand in both the nature of the question and the answer- but he could never provide one himself. Staring at Nikiv's hand, Reepicheep noticed that the knuckles were turning white and that rain had stopped all together. It was as if the universe were waiting for him to speak the answer he didn't have. "Perhaps it's meant in the non-literal sense." He said. "It is probably meant to be a good luck to those who need it. Why would a dead man need an Albatross?"

"An albatross?" Nikiv asked, "Isn't that a bird?"

Reepicheep nodded. "Seen as a good or terrible omen of the seafarers. There's a story about it- I know of it, if you wish to hear it."

Nikiv turned back towards the bed, seeing that it was wet but not completely soaked. He walked over to the bad, pin in hand and sat down and let his feet hang over the edge, over the dark abyss of depression and forswearing. Opening his hand and looking at the pin once again, Nikiv sighed- for he saw not a fond memory of his father but a reminder that his father was no longer going to be there for him. Vasily Popov was dead and for the first time, truly understood that his father would never again tell him words of encouragement, would never laugh at a joke, would never see a wedding, would never see a grandchild and would never see old age. Vasily Popov was dead and he is survived by his son.

"There was a mariner who sailed the world and all its seas," Reepicheep said, getting straight to the point and to quickly change the subject. "He was a renowned fisherman, respected captain and loyal to his causes. In short, he was just and righteous man." The Mouse jumped from the windowsill and crossed the room again in the same manner as before- nonchalantly and as you would expect a mouse to cross a floor.

"Before you continue with the story," Nikiv said, "I want to know something, how long were you standing in the door?"

"Long enough to enter this room and see how far you were willing to go." Reepicheep replied as he scaled the bed. "Now I have a question for you, were you considering it?"

Nikiv nodded. "I was, and to be honest, I still am. You distracted me."

"If you were distracted by me standing in the doorway," Reepicheep said, "then I can presume that you weren't in too much conviction to go through with it. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"No." The boy answered, "I haven't a single thing to hide."

Reepicheep nodded, noticing that the bed wasn't as wet as he thought and proceeded to make himself comfortable when he noticed a slight tear in the cover sheet. Examining his person to be sure it wasn't his blade and finding that it wasn't- felt through the hole and felt something syrupy.

_Odd, _Reepicheep thought, _it almost feels like-_

The Mouse removed his paw from the hole, noticing that it was red. Turning towards Nikiv, Reepicheep said nothing, he merely cleaned his paw off the best he could and smiled weakly. Nikiv turned towards the Mouse and sighed. The boy understood what was revealed and made his way to the window again.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't do it. I thought that if I-"

"Mar yourself that you would feel somewhat justified in your grief?" Reepicheep said, finishing his sentence the way he perceived it to go.

"I thought that it would make it easier." Nikiv replied. He slowly removed both of his shirts. At the sight of the deed, Reepicheep stood, jumped from the bed, walked to him, stopped at his feet, curled up in a ball and cried.

"I'm sorry," Reepicheep said, through his tears, "but this isn't your fault. It is _never_ your fault!" He looked up at the boy, still streaming grief from his face. "It was a man who dare not show his face, a devil who knows no cage. He carries fear in his left pocket and death in his right. It was _his _hand and _his_ fury and _his_ resentment and _his_ evil that killed your father. _It was not you_!"

Reepicheep embraced Nikiv's ankle and spilled out what he perceived to be the truth.

"It was not you. I'm sorry for not acting sooner- forgive me of this mistake. Forgive me of being the catalyst for your grief. Maim me and strike me in Aslan's name I do not care boy, just end me if you so will it! Do with me what you will. Seek vendetta and do not regret it. Be the harbinger of death, be the reaper of my soul, do not let me see sunlight for I am a wicked thing of slothfulness and I am content in it. The story of the mariner ends with an albatross round his neck and shame on his name- I am that dead bird and that shame you bear. Release me now into the sea and force me to sink into the abysses. I will not chastise you if you catapult me out that window and send me hurdling towards my maker. I do not care about my life- only yours. You stabbed yourself and marred your innocence. You have fallen to depression and misery and have only me to blame for it. Your father's death is on my head, your life is on my shoulders and your future heirs- I have cursed and damned their souls to the Wicked Ether."

He looked up into Nikiv's eyes and saw nothing of forgiveness or resentment. Only a look of indifference. "Please, for the sake of clearing my conscious- forgive me or destroy me."

Nikiv bent down slowly, grabbed his shirts and put them on. As he did this, Reepicheep backed off, dried his eyes and composed himself. When Nikiv put himself back in order and looked at the Mouse with the same indifference that he had given him- seemingly.

"It's good to know," Nikiv said, standing, "that it's never your fault when it comes to grief." He walked towards the bed, placed the blue jay pin in his pocket and removed the pillow, the bed sheets and a small pocket knife from the bed and put them in a bundle. He then crossed the floor, placed the bundle on the floor, opened the window and released everything out into the world. He closed the window.

Outside, the pine tree resumed her dance and the rain slowly returned to the stage for a new ballet, _The Firebird._ Looking into the mirror once again, Nikiv saw a little more of himself and placed the blue jay pin on his shirt. Nikiv saw his father for a moment- and smiled. He walked towards the door. Reepicheep smiled as well, as he followed Nikiv out he realized two things: first, that love follows grief and second, that Aslan was in the hallway.


	28. The Nightingale's Song

_**The Nightingale's Song**_

_A Bedroom in Cair Paravel_

He honestly didn't know what to say. For no amount of words would justify what his heart felt in that moment. Anger, sadness, fear, all of these festered a storm. All he could think about was that his blue jay and robin were dead and there was nothing that could have been done to save them.

Here I stand next to him in a bedroom. What was once a great tower of strength was disassembled by the death a single person. I watched as he submitted to the ground like a worm does to dirt and wallowed in it. I heard him cry and scream and curse the world and everything in it. Believing with all his heart that it was out of spite. No one was there just like before, and just like before, no one was alive. The world had become a barren wasteland filled with depravity and deceit so much so that even the stars faded too sad to witness the truth- that life, like most things, ends.

"He was just a boy." Reepicheep said when his episode of grief was over. "He was my son and I his father. He could've saved the world. He could've cured diseases. He could've saved the world. He could've had children. He could've been a father. He could've been a saint- instead he is a martyr. I hope you realize that."

He looked towards a German who wielded a simple hand pistol and bore the insignia of the 225th Panzer. The Man from Deutschland said nothing. He simply looked down on the floor noticing how beautiful the dust and blood was- how they mingled together. It was as if they were completely oblivious to the fact that a twelve year old boy, who only days ago only worried about the weather, now lay lifeless and still.

"What was his name?" The German asked.

Reepicheep, who stood on the windowsill, scowled the man as well as the question.

"Your ignorance of that shall not be forgiven." He said keeping his composure. He had half a mind to finish the man off, a fourth of a mind to spare him, and another fourth to simply let the whole business go.

The German nodded, sighed and bent down to get a closer look at Nikiv Popov's face. It was tranquil, sage, the kind of face one gives when all knowledge has been learned and the quintessence of peace finally reached.

"You lay a finger on his brow and you lose that finger." Reepicheep said, staring at him.

"Look I'm-"

"You're sorry?" Reepicheep replied cutting him off. His whiskers drooped as well as his tail. Eyes in disbelief and voice completely within he reason, he spoke. "If you sorry, then why did you kill him?"

A question that the German could not answer. He stood back up, straightened his jacket and closed his eyes a moment.

"My name is Wilhelm, Wilhelm Holtz."

"Did I ask for you name?" The Mouse asked.

"No," Wilhelm answered.

"I asked why did you kill him." Reepicheep repeated, slowly reaching for his blade hilt. "Shall I repeat the world's most simplistic question? Or do I have to jump to conclusions?"

Wilhelm nodded, a bit of saliva built up in his throat and to be honest, I thought he was going to keel over. The poor fellow's face was a deep ghostly pale and all he had to do to end his mental torture of guilt and interrogation was to submit to Reepicheep's rage, allow an execution and fall straight into my arms so I can make a proper delivery. It was the most simplistic way to end this poor man's misery and to completely forsake his soul but, something stopped him from saying nothing.

"Before the war," Wilhelm said, "I was a shoemaker in Schwarzenbach am Wald, a small town in East-Central Germany. There was a boy, his name was Hans and he was very fond of me."

He moved over to the bed and sat down on the edge, keeping his gaze solely on Nikiv, finding solace in the boy's still blue, still hope filled eyes.

"He would ask every morning when I opened shop at seven, 'How was your breakfast?' I would answer, 'Fine, but how was yours?' He never answered me in the way that a boy his age should answer. He always said, 'I didn't have breakfast today.'"

Wilhelm sighed again, thinking back to Hans and looking at Nikiv made him ponder the reason and justification- the answer- to Reepicheep's question. The Mouse rolled his eyes.

"I personally do not care about this story." Reepicheep said.

Mister Holtz stopped. He gazed at the floor and moved up to Reepicheep possessing the face of a man who's heart had just broken. No tears were shed, for this grief had long surpassed the level of tears, but it would be obvious to an Idiot to see that pain was there. It consumed his eyes. His mouth, which was slightly agape quivered as if for a moment his unconscious was busy receding to primeval expression of sadness.

"Hans was an orphan." Wilhelm said voice a bit frail. "He was a good boy, just like this boy was. When the National Socialists came, I, I couldn't say 'yes' immediately. They- they threatened to shoot Hans but I told them that I would do it. So I did. I shoot him. Square in the back, just like I did this boy."

"His name was Nikiv Popov," Reepicheep replied noticing that Wilhelm was moving a bit closer to the ground. Submitting to grief and regret simultaneously, the German reached out his hand and almost touched Nikiv's hair, but remembered the comment from earlier about the loss of a finger so retracted and composed himself.

"I shot him because I didn't want him to die by the hands of people who would do worse." Wilhelm said. "I wanted to spare him the pain."

"Spare _him_ the pain?" Reepicheep said, again, not believing the words in which he was hearing. "Did it ever cross your mind as to what pain I would feel? Others would feel? Murder is the most selfish act in the world and yet people like you, psychopaths like you, give the same justification. To spare him the misery, to spare him the grief, to spare him, to spare him, to spare him."

He jumped from the windowsill and to the ground. Reepicheep scurried across the floor and stood next to Mister Holtz who was trying his hardest not to produce tears. Reepicheep, who was thirty milliseconds from speaking again, stopped himself to look up at Wilhelm's face. He thought he was going to see a man who felt nothing, a heartless machine devoted to a collectivist system whose main goal was pure genetics forever engraved in the mindset. Instead, the Mouse witnessed a tear and then the movement of a hand.

Wilhelm slowly moved his right hand over Nikiv's face and closed his eyes gently. He then crossed the boy's arms and kissed the forehead, as if he were the parent tucking him in and saying goodnight. After this, Wilhelm stretched out his left pointer finger.

"You can cut off my finger now."

Reepicheep said nothing. He simply stared at the man's finger and said, "I don't think that will be necessary anymore."

The German exhaled, leaned his head back on the bed, closed his eyes and spoke in German for a moment.

"Am I supposed to know what that means?" Reepicheep asked somewhat curiously.

Wilhelm laughed. "Please forgive me."

The Mouse shook his head at this. "I don't think that will be possible."

"I figured as much." The German replied as he slowly stood and once again straightened his coat and resituated himself to protocol.

"You know I never wanted this uniform." Holtz said continuing, "I never wanted to be part of it. I just knew that if I didn't, I would dead just like the rest. A number, a face, never a name."

"Do you think that what you've just said can be applied to everyone else that you've caused grief and misery to?" Reepicheep asked.

"Who said I caused it?" Wilhelm said. "I never wanted to be part of it. I never was. I didn't even know we were doing it until about a year ago. So don't you dare make generalizations when they simply aren't true."

He turned towards the door and exited the room. A colleague of his, a man by the name of Immanuel Jollenbeck, approached him.

"Sir," Immanuel said, "did you do it?"

"I did." Wilhelm replied.

Immanuel laughed. "Good, the little bastard deserved it."

"Yes he did." Wilhelm said.

Jollenbeck walked towards the library. I had the feeling I was about to be very busy again. Wilhelm re-entered the room and resumed his seat on the bed.

"You asked why I killed him," he said. "I don't think I answered it."

"You said something about wanting to spare him." Reepicheep replied.

"It's true. I wanted to spare him." Wilhelm said. "I think that's justification enough. A good humanitarian reason. Did he deserve it? No, but unfortunately that's how this game is played. Those who do not have the means to defend themselves are trumped and weeded out. It's evolution. It's life and it's insane."

He turned towards Reepicheep a moment and slowly shook his head. "I don't expect you to forgive me, to let me live or my words to be valued. But I have not been lying to you."

"I cannot believe your words I'm afraid." Reepicheep said, looking at Nikiv again and sighing out of grief, "He was a blue jay, and his only crime was singing a beautiful song and you slaughtered him- ending the beautiful song just as it reached the chorus."

Wilhelm said nothing. He looked out the window and watched the rain and pictured himself in it, playing a game of catch with Hans- back when the world made sense and people did not have to do crazy irrational things to stay alive. Back when morals and honor meant something to most people. In this moment of silence, Mister Holtz cried.

Wilhelm stood, walked over to the windowsill, stepping over Nikiv respectfully and spoke.

"I am just a boy. I could've saved the world. I could've cured diseases. I could've saved the world. I could've had children. I could've been a father. I could've been a saint- instead I am a grief filled man. I hope you realize that."

Immanuel walked back down the hallway. As he passed the doorway to the room he peered in and saw Wilhelm lift Nikiv off the ground and move him to the bed. He then situated the body in the same fashion as before and as before, kissed Nikiv's forehead. Reepicheep, who oversaw the deed from the far side of the bed, admittedly smiled.

Immanuel produced a pistol and without uttering a single word fired. The bullet entered Wilhelm's forehead and as he fell backwards, I caught his soul and carried him to loving hands. Reepicheep meanwhile exited the room and upon reaching the door looking the German in the eye, shook his head and continued down the hallway. After a few steps however, the Mouse stopped, turned back around and said.

"Why did you kill him?"

The German smiled. "My name is Immanuel Jollenbeck."

"Did I ask for your name?" The Mouse asked.

""No," The German answered.

"I asked why did you kill him." Reepicheep said, "Shall I repeat the world's most simplistic question?"

"You may." Immanuel said.

Reepicheep sighed and shook his head. "He was a shoemaker who had a heart. I hope you realize that."


	29. PART SIX

**-PART SIX-**

**In Concerning Narnian Affairs: Part IV**

_**The Voyage of the Dawn Treader**_

* * *

_**Brother**_

As bitter salt was whipped by the wind, harmonious sirens surfaced. Singing a song of good fortune for the journey, the maidens of the sea waved at the men who were loading crates of apples, cherries, and pomegranates up onto the vast deck of the regal ship.

The Dawn Treader, the finest vessel to embark on water, bore the colors of purple and gold in weaves of curls and ridges. The mast was strong and never creaked, being made of solid cherry with a stained finish. The massive sails, when taught, swayed ever so lightly even in windless weather, making it seem as if the ship were dancing. The flags of the king hoisted high into the air like a beacon of sense in a sea of blind ambition flurried into a field of unknown certainty. In the midst of this calm clamor and prestige stood two brothers who, like most when leaving for a final time, said goodbye in the longest way possible.

"So, I take I can't change your mind?"

"Even if you dragged me by the tail."

Trufflehunter laughed, for he had half a mind to do so. Seeing his friend embark on the adventure they dreamed about The Badger wondered if he could muster up the courage join him. For he was just as enthusiastic as he was and yet, Trufflehunter was content to leave ambition and dreams behind in his youth. For he had, not better things, but more practical things, to do. There was dinner to prepare, books to write and read, songs to be sung, and children to put to bed. The adventure of fatherhood was enough for him and upon gazing at his friend, who was the bulwark of his life, leave and do the thing he dared Trufflehunter simply smiled.

"You're finally doing it Reepicheep," the Badger said as his eyes slowly became wet. "I've never been so proud."

"You are sounding like my father, you can stop any time." Reepicheep replied with a slight eye roll and grin.

"Yes," Trufflehunter continued, "but you're going away for who knows how long- months, years even…"

The Badger paused with a sigh, thinking to himself the words that might motivate him to take himself and his bag full of medical supplies, books, and pens, which he carried on his back, onto the boat so that this conversation of depression can end and at least for a time, return to normalcy. Instead, he looked to the ground as if there was something more interesting there and when his mouth found the words to speak again he looked up into Reepicheep's eyes as a single tear ran down his cheek.

"This truly may be the last time I see you."

"I know," The Mouse replied, himself finding it difficult to repress emotion that was natural to give began to feel his heart break into millions of little pieces. "But I sincerely hope it will not be. I have half a mind to drag you up that ramp and force you to journey with me. But I will not, because you have a life here and I cannot deprive a man of his life."

"You have a life here too-"

"No!" Reepicheep quipped with a glare, "I had one, it was well lived, it was beautiful. The happiest years I could ask for and you were and still remain to be my bravest friend. But to say that I have a life here would be cheating me of a life somewhere else."

"If it's because of what happened-"

Reepicheep shook his head, "It is not because of what happened, Truff." He turned towards the bank and towards the ship, seeing or perhaps wanting to see the future that lay ahead. Dismissing the past completely and forgetting it would have been a lovely thought to possess. The Mouse looked at the sails and seeing their majesty flourish made him take a solemn breath of bitter salty air.

"It is because of what did not happen." He continued. Turning around facing a confused Badger, Reepicheep's expression of fondness changed. His eyes became less welcoming and knowing, his tail became a sadistic swinging pendulum, slowly moving from left to right and left again, the only sameness in him was his voice.

"Could you have saved them?" The Mouse asked.

_Yes, I could have, but that is the answer you wish me not to say._ The Badger thought.

"Come now," Trufflehunter said, "let us avert solemnity." He advanced with a sincere smile, and noticed that Caspian and the Captain were beginning to go up the ramp and onto the deck.

Following them were a group of seven men who were carrying crates of potatoes, radishes, and tomatoes. Mostly, these people were denizens of the fishing towns of Venice and Jaxsby, both of which lay thirteen miles south and forty miles from the Archenland border with Venice being slightly north of Jaxsby by two and a half miles and more on the coast. There was Kale, a fisherman by trade, Cassius, his son, Harper, a merchant of gold and silk, Eris, his daughter, Julius, a swordsman, Ducada, his apprentice, and finally Monroe, a philosopher.

Behind them, carrying in their arms and on their backs, weapons of small, medium, and large ranging from swords, axes, to javelins, were a group of eight Narnians: three Centaurs, Bigleaf and High Father, two Satyrs, Evander and Jeter, two Fauns, Christian and Marlene, and one Minotaur whose name was Tavros.

Trufflehunter turned towards the monarch and seaman and become servile despite the lack of chains and mistreatment but eating all the humble pie.

"Safe travels Sire," The Badger said somewhat loud for Caspian to hear, "I wish you the best of luck."

Caspian smiled, his face beaming like the sun. "The same to you friend. Are you sure you wish to stay? You are more than welcome to sojourn with us."

"Believe me Sire," Trufflehunter replied as he stood erect once again, "as much as I would love to accompany you I'm afraid my heart calls me here. I would be too afraid to leave it, not because of cowardice or lack of sea-legs, but because of business unfinished."

"I understand Master Badger," Caspian said, "go forth in your business and once it is finished, you are welcome in my court and council."

The regent turned towards the sky, seeing a large mass of gray advance upon the blue producing the beginnings of a livid storm. "Come Reepicheep," Caspian said, "time to disembark."

The Mouse nodded and turned to his friend whom at the moment, was taking his backpack off his person and placing it on the ground.

"Mathias Trufflehunter what are you doing?" Reepicheep asked.

"Parting gift," Trufflehunter answered as he sat the green leather bag on the ground. "Figure you might need it. Just a few odds and ends."

Reepicheep laughed and inspected the bag for a moment, noticing that the stitching was beginning to fray and the leather was starting to mildew. Nevertheless he opened it and saw that the Badger had beautifully prepared a small first-aid kit, some light provisions and an original copy of his master work, _Of Law and Serenity_, which upon seeing that, Reepicheep smiled and shook his head.

"You are giving me your book?" He said.

"Why would I need a book I wrote?" Trufflehunter replied. "I wrote it for you anyway."

The Mouse closed the bag, placed it on his person and adjusted his weight for balance. "Heavier and larger than expected but all the grateful for it. I wish I had things to give you, but alas I do not."

"My father once was told me that if you ever meet a person who would treat you as a brother then you'd be the luckiest Badger in all of Ken. I can proudly say that I am the luckiest Badger."

"And I am so glad you are. It has been an honor Sir."

Trufflehunter shook his head and smiled, "I'm not a knight Reepicheep, I am just a Badger."

Reepicheep ascended the ramp without saying anything else. For if there were any more delays then the storm would be upon them and they would have to postpone the journey 'til tomorrow. When he reached the top he sat his bag down and turned back to his friend, seeing nothing but a large grin on his face.

"You are not just a Badger," Reepicheep called down so his friend could hear, "you are a scholar and a sentry!"

The Badger smiled and laughed at this, feeling that for a final time phrases of encouragement could be said between them face to face as if it were a day in winter when the final leaf from the tree fell and all that was cared about was the fish on the fire or the strew in the pot. Another tear for another epiphany, the myth of his friend leaving had finally become reality to him. So in a last attempt of seizing normal Trufflehunter called in the loudest voice he could, "Go forth and make me proud!"

The ramp was removed and placed on the ground. As the ship left the bay, the sirens finished their serenade and disappeared into the sea and the well-wishers that had gathered there despised back into their lives, all save for Trufflehunter who kept his gaze eastward until he could no longer make out the purple and gold ship and its bright sails as it raced ahead of the storm.


	30. Chapter 30

Sitting in a wooden chair at the dinner table with his nose in a law book, Hallam waited patiently for his father to return from the docks. Stopping for a moment, just before the section on ethics and after the section of rhetoric, The Junior Badger looked up across from him and saw a faded etching of his mother. Although it was simple and not very well done, the etching captured one particular detail of his mother that Hallam, and frankly Trufflehunter, could both agree was the best physical quality- her eyes, which intoxicated the beholder in a glance of warm embrace.

"How was she loved," Hallam said with a smirk, "How was she loved indeed."

The aspiring lawyer stood from his chair and stretched a moment, rolling his shoulders, shaking his paws, and jumping in place to wake himself up from the dreary articulate nature that was the three-thousand five hundred and eighty-seven page monstrosity known as_The Precise Way of the Law_ by Fairbanks Mullengrave.

Entering the living room from an adjacent small library, Kashmir, the former King of Milland, looked slightly confused as to why Hallam was exercising instead of preparing for his future career. The Owl said nothing as he crossed the dirt floor making his way to a small green chair that was nestled warmly near a fireplace and a bookshelf. He sat down and watched as The Junior Badger began to pace the width of the room.

"You know Kashmir," Hallam said, "I've been thinking a lot about your situation recently and I've come to the conclusion that you can sue your country for exiling you."

The Owl laughed and shook his head, "You'd be dead within a week moi droog. Besides, I don't think there needs to be a legal battle."

Hallam stopped in his tracks and turned towards Kashmir, looking at him as if he were insane. His eyes became bulbous and his mouth agape.

"Forgive me Your Majesty," he said, "but I think you're wrong. You most certainly will go to court and you will win. Be it by my wits or your strength I shall see you seated on the Great Throne in the West."

Kashmir smiled and shook his head, "Forgive me Court Badger, but I am not a King anymore. I am simply an Owl."

"If you were just an Owl," Hallam replied, "then you'd be feasting on me right now. No, Kashmir, you're an exiled regent of a beautiful country. I promise to fight your case."

"Why? It's not like Damien will step down any time soon." Kashmir said as he relaxed his muscles and let his wings drape over the arms of the chair as he grabbed a small tattered ottoman by his talons and pulled it closer. The poor piece of furniture scraped across the floor, making an unpleasant sound and two small ruts that were crooked and shallow, much like Kashmir's talons, which had grown smaller due to war and wear over the years.

"Damien forced you out. There must be reprimands." Replied The Junior Badger as he resumed his pacing, kicking loose bits of dirt around. He paused and heard a grim hacking sound come from one of the back rooms.

Hallam sighed and shook his head, not wanting to believe what his heart and what his head told him. His little brother, an orphan adopted into the house three years ago, was close to meeting his parents, and even though that reunion would be happy, it would break Hallam's heart and it would kill Trufflehunter- to have another episode of grim over the house would be too much for his aging heart to bear.

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is." Hallam said.

Kashmir nodded solemnly, "It is." The Owl stood from his chair and walked slowly over to him trying his best not to wince in pain too much.

"Are you alright?" The Junior Badger asked.

"Old war wounds," Kashmir replied, "I'm not as young as I used to be."

The Owl ruffled his feathers, removing bits of lint and twigs that somehow managed to be entangled in his once gold colored feathers, which were beginning to gray. Hallam looked into Kashmir's eyes and noticing that the right one still bore a scar across it, couldn't help but see love and fear in them. A history of war, struggle and a life poorly spent all flashed before Hallam as if the mammal were seconds from death and yet, Kashmir pulled him back to reality with a pat on the shoulder curtesy of his left wing.

In a voice that was filled with both hope and fear, the once proud regent of Milland nodded his head and turned towards the hallway from which he entered upon hearing the sound of more coughing and a frail voice which bore the quintessence of innocence.

"Uncle Kashmir, when is father coming back?"

The Owl shook his head, the mere thought of hearing that poor child's voice broke his heart and knowing that there was nothing to be done was the same as driving a stake through his heart. Nevertheless, Kashmir carefully walked through the threshold of the living room and turned to his immediate left, standing in the doorway of a small frail badger who was another son to him.

"I don't know сын. Do you want me to sing a song for you to help you get back to sleep?"

"Yes please." The child answered.

Kashmir cleared his throat and in the sweetest voice he could sang the only lullaby he knew. It bore no name but it told the story of a brave soldier returning home from war and finding that his love still cared for him. When he reached the chorus, his voice soared into pureness that even a blue jay could not possess, for this was not a blue jay's song. It was Kashmir's song. A song that he bled for, a song that reminded him of what peace was. To sing it to anyone was the greatest honor he could give, and the melodic memory of love was perhaps the best medicine he could conjure.

As The Owl sang, Hallam watched and became mesmerized by how much he cared. There was always the impression that owls were harbingers of death in a negative sense. There was never anything positive or uplifting about the sage-ness of death, and even though Kashmir could predict the solemn grief stricken act of life in his own way, Hallam knew there was love and care. For he saw no malice, no evil, just a sad singing bird.

The Junior Badger walked over to Kashmir when he was finished, noticing that the bird had placed his right wing over his eyes to cover the tears.

"Why are you crying Uncle Kashmir?" The frail voice asked with all the sweetness in the world.

"Don't worry my dear," Kashmir said wiping his eyes and producing a fake smile, "I'm just tired and sad that's all."

"Why are you sad?"

"Because I'll be leaving soon." Kashmir answered.

"Are you going away just like Uncle Reepicheep is?"

Kashmir shook his head and entered the room quietly. It was small but befitting a kit whose spirit was that of his father, his heart that of his mother, and his voice all his own. The little one was nestled snug in a hand-woven blanket, propped up against the headboard in a bed that was slightly too large for him. To the right was a small nightstand with a candle and a musty book, the standard and most necessary gift for a future orator of history, _Narnian Tales, Myths, and Legend_s by Dyson Gracie.

A large rug covered most of the floor and on the far wall stood a bookshelf with home-made wooden toys and balls all delicately hand painted in reds, yellows, blues, magentas, and nice lavenders by Bede, a ferret who was the local physician. The walls were made of dirt and the window, although panned in glass, was covered in grime, the sun's rays, although having good intentions, casted a reaper's shadow over the place. In opposition, Kashmir stood in the shadow of the grim and stood firmly on the rug. Despite his claim of leaving soon, Kashmir was going to make sure he would leave before this innocent son of Mathias Trufflehunter did.

"I don't think I'll need a voyage to go where I'm going, George." Kashmir said.

George, the small weak badger in the bed, nodded slowly and coughed a bit, this time producing a bit of blood. "W-why did he go so soon? He didn't even say goodbye to me."

The bird walked to George's bedside and caressed him gently on the cheek. "I'm sure he meant to, perhaps he just couldn't."

"I suppose. I bet father said our goodbyes for us." George said, taking an asthmatic breath and wheezing slightly. "I-I don't want to be sick anymore."

The Owl shook his head as he closed his eyes, sighed and refused to look upon the face of a dying child who wanted so much to live more than anything.

"Uncle Kashmir," George continued, "are you okay?"

Kashmir opened his eyes and witnessed a young badger with a slightly showing rib cage, a barrel shaped chest, and frail, thin appendages. It was like looking into the eyes of a sweet skeleton, with all the skin and bones still there.

"Yes," the bird said, "would you like something to eat?"

"Do you have any more of that soup?" George asked. "That was delicious."

Kashmir smiled, "Anything else?"

"Whenever father gets here," George said, "can you send him in?"

"Of course." Kashmir replied as he slowly crossed the expanse of the floor, allowing his mahogany tail feathers to lightly droop across the dirt.

When he passed the shadow of the window, and noticing that it still resembled a reaper, Kashmir purposefully turned his back towards the window and clawed the top of the shadow on his way out.

Trufflehunter entered the house looking as if he lost the most important thing in the world. His eyes frantically searched for an answer he knew was not there but when he heard Kashmir enter the room the Badger sighed in relief.

"How is he?" Trufflehunter asked, a bit breathy, for in truth, he ran the last half mile to get home in time for supper.

In the most sincere way he could, The Owl said nothing and walked towards the kitchen and prepared the requested meal. He jumped up a bit, grabbed a bowl from the higher shelf with his beak and wandered into the living room, situating himself near the pot that hung over the fireplace. With his right talon he began filling the bowl with the simplest chicken broth in the world- the ingredients were chicken broth and a dash of pepper. Nothing else. It was soup- the humblest meal Kashmir had ever prepared for a person and because of George's humility the former regent cried.

"He wants Soup." Kashmir said beneath his grief. He stopped pouring, seeing that the bowl was full and made his way for the door with tears running down his face. "He wants damn Soup!"

Trufflehunter turned towards his friend and then at the lonely bowl of soup. He walked over to it, gently picked it up and made his way to his son's room with the best smile he could muster and the happiest thought he could think of- the day George first arrived on his doorstep in a foundlings box with a small note saying simply, 'Please love and care for him'.

Upon seeing his father, George smiled and outstretched his hands for an embrace. "Father!" He cried as loud as he could, which wasn't loud and still relatively soft.

"Hello George," Trufflehunter said as he moved for the bedside, placing the soup bowl on the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Have you been good today?"

"Yes," George inevitably said, "is he gone?"

Trufflehunter nodded, "Yes, Uncle Reepicheep is gone but he sends his love."

_"Actually,"_ The Badger thought, _"what you meant to say was, he forgot to come and say goodbye to you. I guess that's one promise he won't be keeping. Out of all the promises to break Reepicheep, you choose the one that meant the most and I honestly can't forgive you for it."_

"Do you suppose we'll see him again?"

"I sure hope so," Trufflehunter replied with a smile secretly thinking to himself 'so I can wring his little neck a bit' as he loving embraced his son for one of the final times. "Now, let's eat and get some rest, hmm?"

George nodded and as Trufflehunter was about to spoon-feed him his supper, Kashmir's crying could be heard from the living room.

"Is Uncle Kashmir alright?" George asked.

Trufflehunter sighed and nodded slowly, wanting to believe and hope that Kashmir was fine but knowing full well that he saw and understood the future.

"He's fine George," The Badger said, "He just loves you."


	31. Chapter 31

Upon the wooden railing of the Dawn Treader stood the arms of King Caspian X. The body of said regent was rather poised as if he were contemplating the meaning of the word 'philosophy'. His eyes were distant and his hair was being whipped ever so lightly by the wind, as if the forces of nature were caressing, guiding, and blessing him simultaneously. The crew were busy handling ropes, tying them into knots: the sheepshank, the square, the bowline, the half-hitch, the taut line, the timber, and yes, even the overhand, to manage the main sail and its brothers to set the ship straight.

A centaur by the name of Bigleaf, who armed with a mind and bow, proceeded to walk around the deck picking up loose odds and ends: bits of food, unhardened trash, discarded provisions, and mistreated rope. Placing this in a pail which he carried, the centaur took it upon himself to make sure that every inch of the place was clean just before breakfast, just after lunch, and just before he went to sleep. As he cleaned he hummed a made up tune to himself, and while he moved for a dropped piece of fruit, Reepicheep, who was busy tying a bowline to secure a line, noticed the centaur's humming and smiled.

"You would make an exceptional lyricist." The Mouse said.

"Thank you, Reepicheep." Bigleaf replied as he bent over to pick the apple up, "Can't say I've ever written anything down. Haven't the time nor the effort."

Reepicheep nodded, seeing the prospect of writing a book of poetry and orating it for people a waste of valuable time that could be spent doing more productive tasks such as cleaning the deck. "From where do you hail, Bigleaf, if I may ask?"

"You may," The Centaur said, as he moved on, spotting a bit of twine that was in a knot. He did the poor rope a kindness and untied it, but only to tie it in a simple square knot. He began this by crossing both ends of the twine over, producing a small 'x' shape.

"I come from a place known as Mullengrave." Bigleaf continued, "I trust you have heard of Fairbanks?"

"Ah yes, the lawyer." Reepicheep said nodding his head and noticing that The Centaur wanted him to watch the simple knot tying demonstration.

"Yes," Bigleaf replied as he tucked one end through the newly formed loop, displaying it for The Mouse to see, "he was the local celebrity. I lived just up the river from him and I can tell you he was the nicest fellow I knew."

Bigleaf then crossed the two ends of the twine together again but in the opposite way as before and repeated the tucking once again. He displayed the finished knot to The Mouse and placed it in the pail.

"How did you learn to tie it?" Reepicheep asked.

Bigleaf smiled simply and laughed. "The square knot, my dear Reepicheep, is the first knot a sailor learns."

"Were you a sailor before this?" The Mouse asked.

"No," Bigleaf said, "but my father was."

The Centaur continued on his way to a discarded apple core. He picked it up, sneered at it for a second and placed it in the pail.

"The nerve of these brutish people." He said, "To think that His Majesty hired them to run a ship as grand as this is beyond me."

"Perhaps they have docility in other ways besides cleanliness." Reepicheep replied, noticing that a pomegranate was already beginning to spoil as Cassius walked past as if it were as commonplace as grass. The Mouse nonchalantly jumped to the deck and walked over to the spoiled fruit, seeing black splotches cover the surface like leprosy. Cassius meanwhile, was attending to the business of romancing Eris, the merchant's daughter, who was a foot away tending to the washing of dishes for dinner.

Smiling and admiring her beauty in a Shakespearean sort of way, Cassius extended his hand to her. "A woman such as yourself deserves better than to wash and to clean."

"Why Cassius," she said, blushing, cheeks redder than a cherry, "you're such a gentleman."

"He may be a gentleman my dear," Reepicheep replied, who was behind Cassius still near the pomegranate, "but he is myopic and versed in lethargies."

Cassius laughed and shook his head, "Eris, that isn't true."

"Oh," Eris said, "then tell me the truth then."

Cassius could not think of a proper answer, one that was befitting the image that he carried so well for himself. Instead he turned to Reepicheep and asked a straightforward question. "Where is your proof?"

"To quote a lawyer," The Mouse replied, in a matter-of-fact sort of way, "'the proof is about you'. Take for example, your negligence for that spoiled pomegranate here. I am not a disciplinarian but I do approve of a clean ship. Perhaps you saw it and thought 'someone else should, and will, pick it up', for it is natural to think that. You were busy doing other things, your mind was occupied and drifting into other details which the pomegranate has no existence in. In short, you overlooked it, but you also overlooked the fact that you are a fisherman's son and as the ben of a fisherman you have forgotten the first rule all fishermen learn."

"What," Cassius said with a condescending smile and a small laugh, "pray tell, is that?"

"Why, that all things are bait!" Reepicheep answered excitedly as he pulled out his blade and stuck the tip in the pomegranate, letting the juices spill and run down the splotched face of it. "This may be a spoiled pomegranate, but it is not a useless pomegranate."

"There aren't any fish in these parts." Cassius replied, "We're in deep water now. Even if there were fish, it would take hours, possibly days before we'd catch anything."

"Ah, but I didn't say fish, now did I?"

Cassius looked back towards Eris, and noticed that she resumed her work with the dishes. He walked over to her thinking on how wonderful it would be to caress her body and to inhale the incense that she wore on her hair to cover up the embedded smell of fresh wool and silk. He would have enjoyed to have imagined her in a beautiful dress, one that was adorned with white lilies with a green sash round the waist. He pictured a life, a love, two things that harmoniously packaged into one person.

Reepicheep watched as Cassius traversed the waters of love and thought back to a time when he was in such a state and remembered something that someone once told him. "'True love is something that only people who have loved really understand. For they have loved, pained, and lost with someone, for someone, and to them, to go the distance of the mile and then some is miraculous in nature and beautiful in life. When two people are dedicated to each other to the point where even death itself is a bigot, then you know it is real.'- Mathias Trufflehunter."

Eris turned and saw the fisherman stand there with a grin on his face. "So," she said, "come to prove a rodent wrong?"

"I have." Cassius replied.

"You shall have to do more than present flowery words and poetics Mister Cassius," Reepicheep said, "You shall have to prove your honorability to me, which is something that no one has ever, or will ever, do."

"Why is that?" Cassius asked.

"Because," Reepicheep said, removing his blade from the pomegranate, guiding the fruit with the tip of the blade as he walked towards him, "no one knows what Honor is."

"Isn't that giving your life for someone else?" Cassius asked.

"No, that would be True Love, Martyrdom, or Brotherhood, depending on the context." The Mouse answered as he stopped and sheathed his weapon. Reepicheep then turned, walked a few feet back to give Cassius room to contemplate his next move. He was about to be schooled by a trained philosopher.

"Honor is more than that." Reepicheep said, quoting himself, knowing it, and realizing the egotism in this, retained his smile. For he remembered the exact line, the page, and the dedication he placed at the top of his unpublished biography and part theological work, 'The Door to My House'. The Mouse turned back towards Cassius and smiled sincerely, figuring that whatever sin he was committing it could easily be passable as a necessary measure for understanding some sort of truth.

He continued: "Honor means realizing when to die and when to live. Understanding how to be cordial and how to be assertive. Seeing truth as just and murder as evil yet wars are claimed sacred and necessary. Honor is a paradoxical oxymoron which cannot be achieved because we flaw and then we fall. Now we know Love, Peace, Brotherhood, yes, those things are simple, yet never easy. Honor is complicated and never to be simple, which is why we do not understand what it means."

"If no one can understand Honor," Cassius said, "then how can I prove my honorability to you?"

The Mouse smiled at this, "I never said that Honor was one thing or the other but a composition of Virtues and Vices. Show me those Virtues, leave out the Vices, and you may be the first person to live to understand Honor."

Cassius bent down at his knees and picked the spoiled pomegranate up with his hand. Inspecting it and seeing the hole that Reepicheep had made and the juices still spilling and running down the side, the fisherman's son thought to himself how ridiculous that so called first rule of fishing applies to spoiled fruit. Eris moved toward the bow of the ship, carrying the dishes she had cleaned underneath her arm, passing High Father, Bigleaf's sire, who bowed his head.

"Eris," High Father said, "I see you're proving yourself useful."

"Thank you High Father," Eris replied with a smile. "I'll be sure to sew that ceremonial wreath of yours later. At the moment, I know that my father is ill."

"Ill?" The Centaur asked, slightly concerned. "Why you must see to him before we all contract whatever it is he's got!"

"It's just a cold High Father," Eris said, "nothing too serious. Rest, warm water, and a bit of food are all he needs."

The Centaur smiled and bowed his head again once she left, "If rest and sleep and soup is what he needs, then he should be up in a week or less."

"Let us all hope so." She replied and went below deck to tend to the sickly man who sold linens and half loaves of bread.

* * *

When the crew had supped and the day's work had ended, Caspian stood near the railing and faced south with sagely eyes as if he were pondering the meaning of life or the importance of death. He stared at the sea and admired the crests and troughs of the waves that gently caressed and rocked the ship in lullaby.

Cassius meanwhile, sat down near an apple barrel with a quill and pad of paper, writing his attempt at a love poem. "Radiant sun, radiant fair, how you sing sweet songs of air…"

Jeter, a satyr, who was descending below deck for the night, stopped and heard this poor excuse of affection and shook his head. "If you're going to write a poem," he said, "do not sing it. It only makes it less meaningful, but that's just my opinion."

"Yes, well, you can keep your opinion." Cassius replied turning toward him, "I happen to think it just fine."

Jeter sighed and made his way down, thinking how wonderfully happy Cassius' parents are to have rid of him from the house.

Reepicheep, who was meandering around the ship talking with people about the day, made his way over to Cassius curious as to the paper and pen. The Mouse noticed that he continued to write and scratch out furiously as if he were viciously disciplining the paper to do its chores properly. Staying silent so not to disturb him with words, Reepicheep scaled the barrel Cassius was in front and peered over his shoulder to have a look. The paper was an ink blot, a very large one, making reading anything impossible. Cassius turned his pad to a new page and was about to start again when he sighed and began writing something else. After a few lines over reading over his shoulder, Reepicheep shook his head and finally spoke out:

"I am terrible sorry for the disturbance and rudeness of this, but I frankly could not help myself and will not help myself further by saying that you are wrong sir."

Cassius sighed and placed his paper and pen down. "Do you think if I were to jump, would anyone notice?"

"I would." The Mouse answered. "She would too."

"She doesn't even acknowledge my existence, Reepicheep." Cassius said. "You saw her today and how she looked at me."

"If love were easy, then everyone would fall in love and the men would be sires and the women be providers. Alas, love is not so easy."

Cassius nodded and stood from his place. He stretched, yawned, and crossed the deck to ascend down into the quarters. He looked back towards Reepicheep with solemnity in his eyes. "Do you think I will ever be happy?"

The Mouse nodded but said nothing. Instead jumped down from the barrel and scurried over to the pad and paper, making a few revisions to Cassius' letter that was disapproving. When he was finished Reepicheep produced his signature at the bottom and a small post script. Without looking at the paper, the Mouse walked bipedal with paper and pen in paw to Cassius and laid them on the deck in front of his eye level. Cassius turned towards the pad and noticed that the letter was a bit longer, skimming it, the fisherman smiled and grabbed his paper and pad.

"Where did you learn penmanship?" Cassius asked.

"Self taught." Reepicheep answered. "Well, theoretically I had a tutor but she was always too scatterbrained for me. Always going on tangents and she would babble out the history of letters. It was rather...interesting, but at the same time it was painfully dull. So, one day I left mid-lesson and never returned there. My father was furious but my brothers understood."

"Did you know your mother?"

The Mouse shook his head, "Died shortly after I was born, I'm afraid. I was told that she was extremely kind and loving."

"Well, at least you have that comfort." Cassius replied. "I never knew my parents."

"Is Kale not your father?" Reepicheep asked.

Cassius shook his head. "Did you even read it?"

Yes, Reepicheep thought, I most certainly did. I found it appalling that you would consider such a thing. Do you not realize how selfish it is?

"Simply because Kale is not your father does not mean he is a father to you." Reepicheep said. "He loves you sir, most dearly I assure you, and I-"

"It still changes nothing." Cassius said, cutting him off.

"Will you let me finish?!" The Mouse shouted, letting his fur standing on edge as he raised his voice. "You shan't cause your own demise because of simple misreadings of love! I cannot and will not be a witness to it. Do you not understand that if you do so then you shall be damning yourself to a place where I cannot reach you?"

"Who said I wanted you to reach me?" Cassius asked as he continued his long depressed descent into the quarters.

Reepicheep quickly followed him down and beheld a dark swaying room. Cots lined the walls and ropes and supplies hung from a ceiling as if it were your regular consignment shop on 31st Street. A small congregation hovered over a cot to the left of a small room. Eris threw herself over her father, who had only recently drew his final breath. As she cried, those who were there stood silent and bowed their heads in respect. Reepicheep removed his circlet and stood in silence as Cassius ignored the funerary procession and laid on his cot, slowly unsheathing a knife as he placed the paper and pen on his chest. The Mouse watched in earnest, hoping and praying that the fisherman was not going to heinously commit self-murder in the presence of grief. Cassius raised the knife and took a breath of air, fully prepared to go through with it.

Reepicheep shook his head and cried tears. "For goodness sake boy, stop this!"

The congregation of grievers turned towards Cassius and all stood motionless as they simply watched him almost kill himself.

"Please," the Mouse said taking small advances toward him, "do not do this. Think of what you're doing to yourself. You are ending your life. Your life and once you do you will never get it back."

He stopped at the foot of Cassius' cot and placed his left paw on the nearest beam supporting it. He turned towards the group of mourners, searching for a familiar face, finding one in Eris. Without a word or acknowledgement, the girl stood up from her place and walked towards Cassius, having in her eyes a sense of calm sadness.

"Cassius," Eris said crouching down to his eye level, "are you alright?"

"No-" a rough voice answered. Eris, Reepicheep, and the rest turned to find Kale, walking in with a bare chest and an axe in hand. He was one of those brutish characters who rarely bathed and loathed orders. At the moment, he was returning from his work on deck and was prepared to go to war.

"He is not, as you say, alright." Kale said, "In fact, he's very much in the way."

He advanced and carrying the axe with one hand, letting the blade scrape the wooden floor. When he reached Cassius' bed, the man smiled, leaned in, and spat in his face. Cassius said and did nothing.

"You actually thought you could escape me?" Kale asked rather rhetorically. "You thought that your life would be better taken by yourself than by me?"

Cassius nodded. "Any method is better than yours."

Kale paused a moment to laugh. He sat the axe down underneath the cot and took a knee. He then placed a hand on the hilt of his son's knife...


	32. Chapter 32

Mathias Trufflehunter exited George's room without word. As he walked into the living room, he noticed that Hallam had returned to his books, he was just getting to the riveting chapter entitled _Jurors of Wolves_ which was filled with the endless reminder of the literal possibility that the jury faced in court, may be comprised of wolves who had not yet consumed supper. Walking toward the door, The Badger kept his gaze on the floor and the bit of loose dirt that was being kicked around by the wind made by his footsteps. Placing a paw on the door frame, Mathias turned back towards his eldest solemnly with a depressed upside-down smile and water filled eyes.

"Your brother is dying Hallam." Mathias said.

Hallam gave no answer, it was not because he did not want to or that he was a heartless person, it was simply because his father had stated common and extremely obvious knowledge. To appease him and to not sound rude or resentful, the Younger Badger turned from his book, gazed up at his patriarch and stared for a moment or two- entranced in the tear that slowly ran down his father's face, and completely sympathetic for Mathias' movements toward the nearest pen and paper which resided on the table the aspiring lawyer was sitting at.

When Trufflehunter reached his destination he turned towards his son again. "Must you always say nothing when words are required?"

"No," Hallam replied, "however, must you always say something when words are not required? Honestly father, it seems to me that you talk for the sake of talking."

Mathias rolled his eyes and gripped the quill pen gently in his left hand and began to write, holding the paper in place with his left. After his was finished with the letter, he folded it cordially and moved for the door again. This time however, upon reaching the frame, The Badger moved so far as to open the door and into the world which was experiencing a slight rain.

When the small droplets of water kissed the lips of leaves and the ground, there began a sweet song of blue jays and robins, all in synchronization and all in a tune of sweet melancholy. Their voices soared through the air, transcending into The Great Dominion, creating beautiful airas of mourning and hope. Both pieces of grief combined into a song- a masterful piece of music.

Trufflehunter crossed the threshold with his letter in hand. Thinking not of the rain or of the birds, The Badger noticed nothing but two things: the small child in the bedroom and the failed aegis who currently resided in a boat.

_He told me that he would come. _The Badger thought with a slight storm in his head as he began walking on two legs in the rain, letting the wet ground and dead leaves soothe his troubled feet.

_To add insult to injury- he promised George, it was a witness to it! He promised George that he would come see him before leaving and said and I quote, 'to never gallivant into the wilderness without having formalities straight first.' I honestly do not know what he considers a formality but to me, promising to deliver a dying child the only thing he has ever asked for you is prioritized before a fucking boat._

Mathias stopped and looked around, seeing no solace in the dead bark and slowly returning buds of spring. The wind chased the clouds like schoolchildren in a playground, aimlessly wandering and wondering with glowing the secure world of which they knew. The Badger looked at his letter and saw a large splotch of water had appeared in the middle, causing the ink to run and bleed through. He further examined it, seeing that even though the words were smeared it was still somewhat legible. He read it through once and when he was satisfied, continued onward toward Cair Paravel en-route to ask a griffin, a hippogriff, a bird or other creature of flight to make the delivery for him.

Passing a large oak with a sizeable trunk, The Badger heard the sound of fast approaching wings and the rustling of leaves almost as if August, the Dauphin of the Great Dominion, was busy hunting in his sowing pattern. Looking up toward the canopy however, Trufflehunter did not see the reaping hawk, but rather a Great Grey Owl preached on a low hanging borough of a pine tree. Trufflehunter noticed that this bird was a large one with stone and ivory feathers and beautiful halcyon eyes and for a moment stared in appreciation and slight fear. Mathias slowly took a step away, only to cause the owl to have interest and lean out to obtain a better view.

"No need to run my friend." The owl said in a slight Russian accent. "You are safe here."

"Oh really," The Badger replied not necessarily believing it, "and why should I believe you?"

The owl laughed and took flight, swooping down from its perch and landing in front of Trufflehunter with a cordial bow of the wings and head.

"Because," The owl answered as he slowly stood erect, "you are a friend of King Kashmir, and those who befriend him have my service."

"If I may be so kind to ask," Trufflehunter said, looking the bird over once more and sensing the possibility of attack to be relatively low. "How do you know of this?"

"Why," The bird replied, "I am Kashmir's brother! Alexander is my name, surely he has told you of me."

Mathias shook his head and looked at his letter again, noticing that the paper was beginning to feel weighted.

_Perhaps, _The Badger thought, _there is a reason to why I have never heard of you. Did you have something to do with the coup d'état or the coup de grâce?_

Alexander, who was perplexed at the pause in thought and conversation, waved a wing in front of Mathias to make sure that he was still grounded in reality.

"Hello?" He said, while waving, "Are you alright?"

The Badger blinked a moment and quickly shook his head. "Yes- I am fine. A bit disoriented, but fine."

"Perhaps I can reorient you," Alexander said, "where are you bound?"

"To Cair Paravel," Mathias answered, not necessarily believing the fact that he was sharing information with someone he did not inherently trust. "I am off to deliver a message to a good friend who is at sea."

"Reepicheep, you mean?" Alexander asked, looking at Mathias Trufflehunter with a befuddled eye and turn to the head, believing The Badger to be in need of full time assistance or put out of his misery.

If one were to say that Mathias Julian Trufflehunter were, to put it simply, prone to panic, then you would stating the understatement of the century. His eyes grew larger than his head and his mouth stood agape like a massive cave and all one had to do to find whatever it was they were seeking was to wake it from its slumber and bring along a parrot, a psychopath with a staff, and a rug.

"Alright bird," Mathias said, "you are starting to make me nervous and believe me when I get nervous, I become unbearably angry and when I become unbearably angry well, I," he paused, his brain was trying to come up with a word that was a good word to lie with ,"I-I- you don't want to know what happens next!"

Alexander stared at him for a moment and laughed hysterically, his feather were almost levitating off his body and his lungs became inflamed due to the lack of pure air. It was so hilarious to him, the owl keeled over and rolled in the dirt for a moment.

Trufflehunter meanwhile, rolled his eyes. "Well, while you're laughing uncontrollably, I'll see myself away. Good day and for the Lion's sake, choke on a large throat sized rock you insufferable idiot."

The Badger walked onward, trying to think of the reason behind it all. For a moment he stopped and thought:

_Use your brain. Out of all the things to ignore, this what you choose? He knows something about you, about your friends, yes there is a plethora of suspicion about him but yet, I cannot escape the hope of a small truth- he called Kashmir a King- no one has called him that in years- not even Kashmir himself. So there must be some truth to his words. Only time and a single question will tell._

"How," Trufflehunter said, "do you know this?"

Alexander breathed air and when his laughter subsided into chuckling he stood and when chuckling diminished into a smile at the thought, he looked up at the sky and spoke.

"You mean about you and your friend, yes?" He said, showing off his Russian accent without shame. "I know these things because Kashmir tells me, he may not speak of me much because for a time, I secretly wanted to kill him. He proved to be the better man in that situation."

He turned towards The Badger with a sincere smile, almost as if he wanted to believe that he was talking to his brother before 'that situation' had occurred, back when they were close and when the sky was blue and winter was between spring and autumn- when the world made sense about new ideas that were considered crazy and proved the faults of accepted notions. It was something to be reminiscent and longing of and it was the world of which Alexander Zolnerowich was the last member of.

"Even though you do not know me," Alexander continued, "I know a great deal about you. I know that the letter you have in paws for instance, is about George is it not?"

Trufflehunter nodded but said nothing and he felt compelled to hand the letter to him to prove his assumption right, instead, he asked the question he was saving for Regent Simon.

"Would you be willing to deliver this to Reepicheep?"

Alexander smiled as if he were waiting on the question to begin with and bowed cordially. "It shall be a pleasure moi droog, They sailed east and straight?"

"Last I saw they did, they may have changed course however," The Badger said. "If you wish, I am sure someone will be able to accompany you."

"Why can't you?" The owl asked, letting out a sound that was a mixture between a laugh and a huff.

"I have to take care of George, which why you know so much about me is still very much a mystery." Trufflehunter said. He continued his walk, and at this point, had faith in this bird enough that he wouldn't be the type who would stab you in the back in the literal sense. Regardless of The Badger's thoughts however, Alexander followed not necessarily caring that he was walking and that his walk resembled something of a penguin.

"Perhaps," Alexander said, "I can elaborate during the journey eastward…"


	33. We Were Just Dreaming

_**We Were Just Dreaming**_

_**Gramercy (Many Thanks)**_

Edmund stood on the boards of the deck, looking out to the sea thinking to himself: 'The horizon, I wonder where it ends?' This question, or at least a similar one, was also being thought in the mind of a particular rodent, who was, at the moment, walking towards a barrel of apples, about to inspect every single individual one for spoils.

Reepicheep scaled the barrel with ease as if he were born to do it and began his inspection, lifting each apple with his forepaws and turning it in revolutions.

"Well," the mouse said, finding an apple that was entirely black. 'this will never make a pie." He said and looked around for a suitable disposal place. He didn't want to chuck it over the rail into the sea because that immoral and made him appear rash or inconsiderate of nature, and the mouse was nothing of that sort. He also didn't want to place it back in the barrel, for fear of tarnishing the rest of the bunch and there was no basket near so that was out of the question too.

"Hmm," the mouse said to himself, thinking aloud, "if I were to dispose of a citrus how would I go about it?" He saw Edmund and smiled.

"Sire!" Reepicheep called. "I require some assistance if you could spare the moment." Edmund, who was through gazing and contemplating walked over.

"Need some help with something?" Edmund asked.

"Yes," the mouse answered, "I need to dispose of this apple, and was wondering if you could find a basket or container for me to put it in."

Edmund nodded and walked around the ship deck a bit in search of an empty barrel, basket, or something for Reepicheep to use, while the mouse simply put the spoiled fruit on the tip of his blade and continued his inspection.

Thirty minutes later, Edmund returned with a basket that was donated generously by Tavros who was using it to hold his medical supplies but figured that Reepicheep needed it more so gave it to him.

"Thank you for your service Your Majesty," Reepicheep said once Edmund returned. "I'll be happy to return the favor in due time."

"Actually Reepicheep," Edmund said, "there is something you can do for me."

"Oh, well," Reepicheep said, not expecting Edmund to take up his offer so quickly, "what do you need of me?"

"Console." Edmund said.

"Something causing you trouble?" The rodent asked.

"Out of the many things that I'm afraid of," Edmund continued on, "the one thing I fear the most is dying."

"We all at some point, ponder and suffer through the feeling Your Majesty, such is life- to end, it is never perennial the first go round." Reepicheep said.

"I have dreams about dying." Edmund replied, "Every night it's the same. I'm floating in water, on a piece of wood. It is barely able to support me, only my torso and head are out of the water. It's freezing, the water slowly turns to ice. My breath escapes me, I start to panic as I begin to go under. I'm pulled down by something, it grabs a hold of my leg and rips it clean off as if I were a doll made of straw. Blood fills the water as I slowly descend into darkness. I struggle to breathe. My heart and lungs explode simultaneously, I wake up after that."

"Seems to me that you have a grave fear of being an amputee." Reepicheep said with a laugh to himself and a slight smile, trying to find humor in a situation he knew was serious. He quickly followed with: "In all seriousness though, let me ask you a question. What _exactly_are you afraid of specifically about death?"

"I guess dying too quickly." Edmund answered ironically quickly.

"That is a common fear," Reepicheep said, "a fear often a supervene to war. You have had many moments of disquietude and vacillation Your Majesty, an experience that most people never see until their more cultured years. Is it because of war and your time here that you fear something so unequivocal?"

"I guess so." Edmund answered. "But it doesn't change the fact that it's still there. I feel alone in this Reep, like I can't be understood because no one seems to understand that we may not make it out of this."

"Oh what a naive and apocryphal statement that is." Reepicheep replied. "You really believe that you are on that floating piece of wood don't you! Have you ever stopped to think that I am on that same plank, and that I myself am being ripped apart with you?"

"I thought you were supposed to be fearless." Edmund said.

Reepicheep sighed and shook his head, "Fearlessness is an impossibility sire," he said, "for if one claims to be fearless, then he is dispassionate and is very much like the ice that surrounds our wood plank."

"Are you saying that I'm afraid of being fearless?" Edmund asked.

"Not at all," Reepicheep said, "I'm saying that you're afraid of expectations that are quixotic. You have this idea in your head that you need to be this tower of unrelenting fearlessness when you don't. It is a product of fear- fear of the world and its view of you. You conform to other's opinion of yourself and perceive that to be your true self. It's not. You are simply looking through glass Your Majesty, glass that is telling you to be someone you're not."

"So, you're saying that I should think of myself the way I want to see me, instead of other people?"

Reepicheep nodded, "This beast of yours, the one that pulls you down, that I'm not sure of, but whatever it is, remember that I'm stuck on the wood plank too."

"Are you afraid of the same thing?" Edmund asked.

"In many ways yes," Reepicheep said, "I'm afraid of what my judgment will be when I see Him, I'm afraid that he will look upon me as unworthy or deem me defective. Muddle-headed of me I suppose to think and believe such things but I do."

"You shouldn't Reepicheep," Edmund said.

"Why?" Reepicheep asked.

"If you do then that's fear of castigation. That's the one thing you fear most, isn't it? You needn't fear that because castigation only happens to those who are full of delinquency. If you are full of that, then you are perhaps the greatest thespian in the world. But you're not because if you were we would've figured you out by now. You're too noble to be anything else but deserving of all praise and worthy of all honors."

Reepicheep smiled and said with a bow, "Gramercy."

"You're welcome."

"No sire, I said gramercy to you!" Reepicheep shouted again, "I am not worthy of it! Only those who are my cohorts receive the honor of gramercy." He lowered his voice back to normalcy, "I say it again, and again and again, gramercy. Your Majesty," he said in a voice filed with all the kindness and respectability in the world, "the highest honor I will ever accept from you is service."

Reepicheep turned and continued his business with the apples and Edmund returned to his watchful gaze of the sunrise.

"Reepicheep, what do you suppose about the horizon?"

Reepicheep smiled, "That Your Majesty," he said, "is an entirely different conversation. Would you like to begin it?"

"What do you suppose is at the horizon?" Edmund asked. "Not the end of the world or the other side, just the horizon. Do you think the world is different over there than it is here?"

"That depends on whether you believe the sun rises every morning and sets every morning." Reepicheep answered.

"Well, of course it does." Edmund said.

"You and I say that," Reepicheep replied, "but some people who are morbid and sinister believe that the sun is a reminder of their errors, of the malefactor tendencies they posses. They fear irrationally- just like you and me on our plank. We both fear things we should. So Your Majesty may I propose a question to you?"

"Of course." Edmund replied.

"Would you mind if I serve as your bulwark?" The mouse asked.

"Only if I can extend the same to you." Edmund said.

"Gramercy." Reepicheep repeated the same reply and motion and walked away, he was finished inspecting the apple barrel.

Edmund smiled, turned towards Reepicheep and said: "Gramercy."

Reepicheep turned back, smiled, and bowed with open arms, offering his services and eternal servitude.


	34. Misery, Grief, and Humanity

**_Misery, Grief, and Humanity_**

* * *

There was, in the crow's nest, a centaur by the name of Lionel. He was the lookout and since the seas were calm, it was daylight, and the ship was currently in the middle of nowhere, he decided to sit down for a moment. His legs however, were in great pain.

You see in the middle of the night, Lionel, who slept standing up (for he was a centaur after all) tripped over something in the dark and broke his left front leg. Nevertheless, he was successful in doing his duty to the King and Country and sat in the crow's nest.

Lionel winced in pain as he woke and decided to stand but realized that he was having difficulty doing so. He pulled himself up and saw something in the distance.

It was small, red, and appeared to be in a bundle. He decided to see what it was and so he flipped himself over the side of the crow's nest and fell towards the ship, but maneuvered himself well enough to clear the ship and splashed into the water.

Reepicheep, who was walking along the rail, something that he did often when there was downtime. He was on the side that Lionel was jumping off, was startled and almost went overboard himself.

"Man overboard!" The rodent cried as he pulled himself to his feet, for he had slipped due to the shock.

Caspian, who reacted quicker than most, heard the cry for assist, rushed over and instinctively jumped in.

Lionel was swimming underwater, for gravity had pulled him down a great deal and he slowly made his way up to the surface. He was a natural at holding his breath.

He surfaced, took several breaths of air and continued swimming towards the red bundle as if his life depended on it.

"Lionel!" Caspian cried, a bit annoyed, "what are you doing?"

"There's something out there!" Lionel called back.

"Leave it!" Caspian said, "we probably lost it in the night, besides, it's of no use to us anymore. Now come on before something bad happens."

"I already broke my leg sire!" Lionel said, "Now if you permit me I would like to have a swim towards whatever this thing is- it sooths me."

Caspian rolled his eyes and re-boarded the ship.

"What was that all about?" Reepicheep asked.

"Lionel is being a dunce." Caspian said. "He thinks that just because he broke his leg that he can disobey like that. I'll speak to him later." A towel was draped over him by Edmund who was nearby.

'I think you're judging prematurely Your Majesty," Reepicheep said.

"Oh," Caspian said in a semi-condescending way, "and why do you think that?"

"Look over yonder." The mouse said pointing towards the centaur who now placed the bundle carefully on his back, for he was swimming above the waves now doing a canine paddle of sorts, and headed back towards the ship.

The red bundle was an infant. He was crying- alone, afraid and the left arm was broken. He been out there for possibly two or three days floating on a small raft.

The centaur pushed onward, each stride grew more painful as the broken hoof struggled to move. Lionel screamed and began to go under very slowly.

"Need some help over here!" The centaur called as the pain of broken bone and inflamed muscle in his leg began to show existence and buckle.

Caspian, who was not about to go out again, walked back towards the main mast. Reepicheep shook his head.

"Unbelievable." The rodent replied and, knowing full well that he couldn't do much, jumped in away.

The rodent swam towards his comrade with electric speed. Reepicheep then took a breath and went under, swimming towards the problem. Lionel's leg was cramped up so tightly that it was almost impossible for him to move it. Reepicheep slowly worked the centaur's leg to the point where the cramp was out and Lionel could slowly move it. The rodent surfaced.

"Lionel, are you able to-" Reepicheep started to say when he heard the infant cry for the first time, and it was then he realized that the red bundle on Lionel's back was in fact, a human baby boy.

The bundle started to slip as Lionel started to struggle again. Reepicheep quickly swam up behind the centaur and tried to steady the baby on Lionel but the rodent was lighter than the boy was and with desperation the mouse dove under and tried to catch the infant from falling into the depths. He failed.

Reepicheep resurfaced.

There was nothing he could have done, he wasn't strong enough to lift an infant baby out of the water so he let him go. He hated to do it, and he wept while still in the sea, secretly wanting to go down to the furthest possible extent and stay there, dying with him. He dove.

Once.

Twice.

A third.

Each time his honor called him up to the air to breathe. After the third time Lionel was being assisted back in the ship. Reepicheep swam and scaled the side.

The mouse stood up on deck and saw the centaur, helpless on the boards. Reepicheep walked over to him, embracing him like a brother.

"It's not your fault." Reepicheep said, "it's not your fault."

Lionel protested. "Yes it is Reep, yes it is!"

"No it isn't!" The mouse cried, both literally and physically, "it was the storm of rage that occupied the King's mind, the storm of fear that occupied yours, and the storm of helplessness that occupied mine. In the finding of grief and misery, there is always the hope that life goes on. It does. It goes on even when you want it to cease and stop behaving like a member of country but a member of the deceased. Life continues, and so you should continue. It's going to be fine, for the sun rises each morning."

"But why did he have to die?" Lionel asked, "If only I hadn't broken my leg, if only I were strong enough to save him!"

"'Twas not your laceration that caused that boy to die. Nor was it your inability to deliver him from the inevitable fate. If anything you showed perhaps the greatest kindness anyone has ever shown him- the chance to breathe for final moments, to be secure in fatherly embrace, to be loved in a way never before felt. The happiest moments in his life."

"He drowned Reepicheep," Lionel said, "he drowned."

"I know, I saw, I abetted and I failed to do it today. I swear that whoever casted this child out into the unforgiving sea shall bend at the knee, I swear to you that justice shall be but not today. Perhaps not tomorrow either but there will be due process." Reepicheep said.

Lionel still felt sorry for himself, still felt guilty, still felt that he could do more, that he could've done something to make this boy's life longer, possibly to adulthood, if he could've held on just five minutes longer without giving in to his injury. Then the boy would be alive instead of the bottom of the sea.

"Come on Lionel," Caspian said, "get back up to your post."

"Where were you?" Reepicheep asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Where were you when innocence was thrown and was attempted to be regained? Where were you when pain and suffering was here and was trying to be abetted? Where were you when hope was lost and found again? Sipping tea? Conversing strategy? Among your other peers instead of the one who needed you, who needed relief? And you dare call yourself a King among us men?"

"How dare you defy me!" Caspian yelled.

"How dare you defy yourself!" Reepicheep yelled back. "I have seen callous beasts like you, slain them too, all less mightier and less sinister. If this is your flag then I will not sail under it!"

"You denounce my claim?" Caspian said threatening.

"I denounce your humanity because you have none left. You have become a wyvern, one that has pierced his own heart, pulled it out, and devoured it. You're not a man or a King. You're just a boy with nothing better to do than play egotistical monarch. I thought I taught you better. I did teach you better you betrayed me!"

"No you betrayed _me_, I am your King!"

"You are the master of dybbuks and the lord of misery."

"Ha," Caspian said with a laugh, "you lie."

"Look at yourself!" Reepicheep cried pleading with him, "look at yourself. Tell me what you see?"

"I see a King." Caspian said.

"Then you are blinded by your errors and lead by foolish notions."


	35. Cast Out All Demons

** _Cast Out All Demons_**

* * *

On the same evening of Lionel's fall into the sea and Caspian's descent into primitiveness, Eustace was writing in his journal. He was on the deck sitting near a group of barrels and some rope.

_It has taken some time, _he wrote, _but I think I'm starting to get used to this place. Everyone seems to be reasonably sane, all except the rat, who is overbearing, a nuisance, and too smart for his own good. He's an intrusive little thing and I really want to kill him. But I can't, like I said, he's too smart. He'll probably see it coming, if he hasn't already._

He stopped his writing, stood up and like Edmund did the day before, watched the sea and horizon. This was different however, unlike Edmund who was pondering the end, Eustace was pondering his state of being at the present. He yearned for his home in Cambridge, and was not looking forward to going back to his cot which was beginning to smell of fish and chamber pot excrement.

Eustace looked down the deck towards the stern and saw a lifeboat. He wondered if he could take it down and once gotten that far, what he would do, where he would go. His first thought was of home, but his second was simply away. He wanted to be away from the ship, the crew, and Reepicheep especially who was, at the moment, doing evening inventory down in the cellar.

Eustace thought about how alone he felt, how no one understood him, how he felt like the only person in the world going through the homesickness that was clouding his mind. He missed Cambridge. He missed his school, his friends, which were few, well, a squirrel really, but Eustace counted it as a friend, it didn't turn away when he talked to it at least. He missed his parents, Alberta especially, why for some reason, he didn't know. She was such a bore and was always nagging on Eustace to 'do better in school' despite the perfect reports. It was her that instilled in Eustace the disdain for the world, and it was her that was making him rather depressed. For he, although secretly hated her, knew that she was his mother. Eustace also, was battling himself, there was a voice that told him to look positively, think outgoing, and to never withdraw from accosts.

Reepicheep came up from the cellar and told Caspian of the inventory.

"Sire," he said humbly, "we are missing a large portion of flour and all of the tomatoes have been spoiled. The bread is fine but we'll need to consume it soon. Everything else is accounted for."

"What happened to the flour?" Caspian asked, in a calmer more gentler voice than before. He had taken the day to clear his head, he apologized to Lionel and Reepicheep two hours ago formally but still in the back of his mind had resentment.

"What happened to the flour?" Caspian repeated when he received no answer.

"If I knew the answer to that Your Majesty, I wouldn't have been puzzled or in thought." Reepicheep said, "In other words, I haven't the slightest supposition."

"Are there any leads?" Caspian asked.

"If you're suggesting that someone is devouring nothing but flour at an unhealthy rate and leaving no mess or evidence of them being there then I would say that you're fantasizing, could it possibly be that we've used it? That or someone simply transferred the flour somewhere else, having the opinion that the bag was filled too much or would collapse if more were added to it?"

"Possibly, but who could it be?"

"That is the mystery sire," Reepicheep said, "it could be anyone."

The rodent looked over and saw Eustace, throwing the best pity party in the world.

"If you'll excuse me," Reepicheep said to Caspian, "I have a brother that needs assisting."

"What about the flour?"

"The flour Your Majesty is insignificant now." Reepicheep said. "We won't starve with or without, now, if you'll excuse me." The rodent turned and headed towards Eustace when Caspian followed and said:

"I run a tight ship, Reep. I don't like jumping from one situation to the other before the first is done. Now, the flour, get to the bottom of it."

Reepicheep gave no answer. "Something on your mind?" He asked Eustace.

Eustace sighed and replied: "I'm alone Reepicheep, I want to go home. I'm tired, miserable, haven't a single friend here and all I see is the vast sea telling me that I'm nowhere near anywhere. I'm just her, alone."

"If you were here alone," Reepicheep said, "then you would be on an empty ship."

"Reepicheep," Caspian said, "are you listening to me?"

Reepicheep sighed and turned towards him, "Does it look like I give a damn about flour your Majesty?"

"You should."

"Well I don't! Out of my priorities you will not find 'Flour' anywhere on that list. If it is on yours may His Graces go with you in seeking it but at the moment, I'm here Your Majesty, here. I have a job to do and I intend to do it." Reepicheep said.

Caspian laughed, "Your job is to listen to me. I can give you the world, I can give you bread, and I can give you life."

Reepicheep looked into his eyes and spoke: "Only those who have lost the world, have no bread and seek to take others lives for intentions of malice say the words you just spoke. Is Tash present in you?"

Caspian smiled similar to a cheshire cat. "What do you think?"

"You're mad!" Reepicheep cried as he extended his blade out. "Whatever is going on here, it isn't you."

"Oh no," Caspian said, "it is most certainly me." His eyes glowed green, a misty halo almost.

"What's that over there?" Eustace asked.

Reepicheep turned around, climbed atop one of the barrels and looked out yonder.

"It's fear." Reepicheep said, he quickly turned back towards Caspian and noticed that he was no longer there.

A scream of distress. An alarm was raised, the peaceful evening was halted.

Lucy, who was in the Captain's Quarters, ran out, she was assaulted. Her shirt torn, her face with tears. She was instantly comforted by Edmund and Lionel, who was on the deck floor.

Caspian exited the Quarters, for he had gone in there and tightened his belt. Reepicheep, who saw this, waltzed over nonchalantly. He gave a lupine grin and said:

"You best have a good reason for this Your Majesty."

"I do," Caspian said, "I am the King of the World."

Reepicheep sighed with pity. "I'm sorry, but I cannot serve someone who believes that with his being." He pointed the tip of the blade at Caspian's stomach.

"You won't." Caspian said.

"Continue this way," Reepicheep warned, "and I might consider the action. I dare not strike a King, but I didn't say I wouldn't strike down a symbiotic demon who possess one. I suggest you abscond quickly before I do something regretful and possibly send me somewhere I don't want to be."

"Do it then!" Caspian yelled.

"As you wish." Reepicheep answered and moved to strike, he was inches from murder and milliseconds from sending his soul to The Unforgivable. He halted, straining, his arm sheathed his blade.

"What are you doing?" Caspian asked him.

Reepicheep did not answer he just gave him that lupine smile. That lupine, daring smile that was warning him:

_You're making a war out of your own people sire, I suggest you halt this campaign of resentment before it takes a hold of you- I don't think I'll be able to save you after that decision if you so make it. Reconsider your position._

"No." Caspian replied with a smile, he could tell what the mouse was thinking. He walked towards the cellar.

"So," Reepicheep said to himself as he walked over to Lucy to assist her if possible, watching Caspian disappear into the depths, "the war for your soul begins then? So be it."

Lucy was much calmer now, the tears had stopped and she was smiling, the centaur was telling an embracement of his, he still has the fear of rodents, despite that his best friend was one.

"Why," Reepicheep said as he heard the conclusion of the story, "I'm glad to hear your laughing voice Master Lionel." He turned towards Lucy, "Are you alright Your Highness?"

"I'm fine," Lucy said, "just a bit confused. He tried to- to-" she could finish her sentence, not being able to comprehend the reason. The aftermath shock was beginning to settle in.

"Tell me," Reepicheep said seriously, as if he were going to act upon it. "is your innocence lost?"

"I'm sorry?" Lucy asked, still in a bit of a daze.

"Is your innocence lost?" Reepicheep repeated.

Lucy nodded slowly. "He forced me on the floor!" She cried literally. "I never felt so hopeless."

She cried into her hands.

"Why hide yourself from the world when you did no wrong?" Reepicheep asked her.

"But I did do something wrong." Lucy replied.

"No." Reepicheep answered, "You did-"

Caspian re-entered the boards of the deck, he carried with him, a large bucket of stones. These stones were gathered originally to be placed in sandbags to make them heavier during rough seas. Winds began to pick up, the sea along with it. They were about twenty miles off the next island which was experiencing a bit of rain. The rain storm was just ahead.

The King of the World walked placed the bucket near the main mast, he grabbed a stone. "Everyone," he said, "grab a stone."

Slowly, they all did, except for Reepicheep, Lucy, and Lionel.

Everyone was confused as to why they were doing this, it didn't take long for the realization for Reepicheep was not looking happy. His blade out, trying his best to provide coverage for both Lucy and Lionel, there was no concern for himself in his stance. He was prepared to do whatever possible to make the pain less for them and more for him. He was willing to do that, it's just how he was.

"Sire," Tavros said speaking to Caspian, "you can't be serious can you?"

Caspian nodded. "I am completely serious!" He said. "Our Beloved Queen Lucy has committed a grave sin."

"What?" Lucy exclaimed, "You did it first!"

"How predictable of a woman to say." Caspian replied. Edmund and Eustace dropped their stones back in the bucket.

"Are you defying orders?" Caspian asked.

"Perhaps." Eustace said and stood next to the mouse, his cousin and the centaur. Edmund followed.

Soon the rest of the crew followed and the sea was divided into parts. One stood with Caspian and three confused, the other was the rest of the crew.

"You dare defy me!" Caspian yelled. "I'll see you all be exiled!"

"Go ahead," a voice, that of the Captain said, "exile us oh King, you annoying little bigot." The Captain was in his quarters and he walked through the crowd and stood with the majority.

"Is this how it will end with us?" Caspian said, "After all we've been through together, you're going to treat me like this. Your King!"

"Out of all the Kings in the World, you, oh specter who has possessed my friend, are the worst kind." Reepicheep said.

"What are you talking about Reepicheep?" The Captain asked.

"Look into his eyes," Reepicheep said, "they're a green misty halo. It's unsettling, demonic, and blasphemous to Him."

Caspian laughed, "He! That's all you ever talk about! He this, He that, He shall save you, guide you, protect you, where is He now? Tell me, oh mouse who is so wise, tell me, where is your self proclaimed, False King?"

The mouse was three seconds from charging into war, his head begged him to, but his heart told him to stay, he was better than him, and would not stoop to his level.

"He is with those who call Him Father, he is with those who call Him King, and he is with those who believe justly in Him. Praise Him."

"Praise Him." The company behind him answered.

"I do not!" Caspian cried. He looked to the sky and screamed:

"Where are you now!"

He did this three times.

It slowly began to rain. The sea still divided as the island slowly came into view.

Once it began to rain harder the crew dismissed itself into the quarters. All except Reepicheep and Caspian, who stood there staring at each other- in a gridlock contest to see who could produce the more devilish grin. Caspian was winning.

"What are you going to do?" Caspian asked.

"Something that should have been done yesterday." Reepicheep answered and threw his blade towards his former colleague. It hit target, right in the knee cap. Caspian fell on his knees due to the angle and trajectory of the blade. He winced but did not produce tears. The deck was barren, he was alone.

Reepicheep went below and slept with qualms with himself.

"Eustace," the mouse said, "are you awake?"

"Yes." The boy answered.

"Gramercy blood brother," Reepicheep said, "you showed gallantry and shield me from Fire. You looked him in the eye and denounced him- applaud you sir. Obligation to lift a sword for you is without quarrel, if you need me, I shall be your reinforcement."

"I might have to take you up on that offer." Eustace said.

"Oh, and why is that?" The mouse asked, not caring, willing to go along with him but just wondering.

"I'm leaving Reepicheep." The boy answered.

"What? Leaving? Why Master Straub, you can't necessarily-"

"I'm not talking about that." Eustace said.

"Well then-" Reepicheep stopped himself and flipped out of bed and climbed onto Eustace's torso.

"Listen to me," Reepicheep said, "you will never be alone do you understand?"

Eustace nodded, "I just feel that way. Perhaps it's better if I-"

"I would grieve and never be able to live with myself Eustace. I couldn't see you precipitately self-immolate yourself. I refuse to let you- you have the world to offer and a vast amount of good to share. My time I fear, is almost consummated, but you, have the world. If you fall, know that I shall be there to lift you up. You will never be deserted or forsaken, you will never be criticized or taunted by the forces that belittle you. This will happen never again."

He paused, the ship moved about in the rain and waves. Eustace closed his eyes and tried to sleep, a tear fell as he rolled over. Reepicheep adjusted his position.

" I shall be here for you." Reepicheep said. "Let me be an unmoving aegis when you fall, an abettor when you rise. Whatever you ask of me I shall be for you. Just promise me that you will reconsider, you are more valuable than what you give yourself credit for. You are my brother and today you were my shield, allow me to perform the same graces and provide the companionship that you given me." He looked at the boy, who opened his eyes and looked at him, pleading to let him be.

"Don't do this." Reepicheep said. "I love and care for you too much to let you go ahead with this venture. This venture of heartache and mental torment that you will cause. Think of your family, your friends, all the people that have gotten to know you and the people who haven't. They will miss an important person that did and could have changed their lives. Don't do this."

Eustace did not answer. He simply slept.

The following morning Eustace walked onto the shore of the bank of an island, for they had reached it, and assisted Reepicheep and his party in gathering provisions.

"I have made my decision." Eustace said.

"And?" Reepicheep replied, hopeful that he had gotten through to him.

"Well, considering that I am still here, what do you think it was?" Eustace said with a smile. "Thank you." The boy said.

"Let me infold thee and hold thee to mine heart." Reepicheep said. Eustace smiled. "Have you been reading Shakespeare?"

"You have a copy of it underneath your cot. Macbeth was it?"

"That's right." Eustace said.

"Best not end up like that fellow now." Reepicheep said. He laughed and so did Eustace. The power and beauty of Shakespeare.


	36. The Beelzebub of the Sitatuion

**The Beelzebub of This Situation**

* * *

As the crew returned to the boats, for a separate party had gone to look for any opposition, Reepicheep kept a steady eye on Caspian. The mouse's tail flicked back and forth, as it were thinking up reasons as to why the sudden mood swings.

_He seems more natural now,_ Reepicheep thought, _as if the resentment and behaviors of before were simply a symptom of the sea._

Caspian looked towards the mouse and smiled familiarly, "Come on then." he said as if nothing had occurred.

Reepicheep made his way over: _Perhaps it was just sea sickness. I hope it doesn't repeat any time soon._

The boat ride back was nervous and could be expressed simply by fear. Reepicheep noticed that they had acquired a young girl and a man who he presumed to be her father. They were in the boat next to the one he was in and the rodent saw the girl and noticed that she was distressed, almost in tears but not quite there yet.

_Converse with young passenger about trouble. _Reepicheep said in his head, making mental notes. _Continue watch of Caspian._

This reminded him that he needed to watch his monarch who was rowing the rowboat he was commuting in. He appeared normal, but slowly a smile was returning. The smile that made Reepicheep not too keen earlier.

"Sire," Reepicheep said warning him, "remember your conscious."

Caspian didn't answer him verbally, he simply nodded.

They were halfway back to the ship.

Twenty-minutes later, Caspian's smile turned into full-fledged crazy. The others began to notice.

"Sire," Tavros said, "are you alright?"

"Just fine." Caspian answered.

The young girl and the man climbed the ladder. Caspian stood up immediately and moved towards them with intent. Reepicheep saw this and saluted his blade again, this time however, he performed a successful parry, which knocked Caspian back into the rowboat.

"What are you doing?" Caspian asked. The action and rocking of the rowboat caused the others to look over.

"Yes Reep," Edmund asked, a bit confused, "what _are_ you doing?"

"Possibly doing the most heinous act I will ever do." Reepicheep answered as he got into an attack position.

"I apologize Your Majesty," Reepicheep said continuing, "but I cannot let you board."

"Is this munity?" Caspian asked.

"Absolutely not sire," Reepicheep replied, "I just want you to be mentally stable is all."

"So munity then?" Caspian said.

The rodent rolled his eyes and sighed, "Oh for the love of- alright yes it's munity!"

Silence.

"What did you just say?" Caspian asked.

"I think you heard me." Reepicheep replied.

Caspian smiled, "I'm afraid you're going to have to be excommunicated. I will not tolerate treason on my ship."

"_Your_ ship?" Reepicheep said, raising his voice and looking at Caspian with a skeptical eye. "I suggest you learn your place."

"I know my place," Caspian answered, "and it is with my subjects."

Slowly, Caspian climbed the ladder. The girl was ninety percent of the way up. Just as she was about to board, Caspian grabbed her leg and threw her towards the sea past the boats and way out into the water. She screamed, was in pain, and hit the water extremely hard. It did not look promising.

Tavros jumped in and swam towards her, Reepicheep meanwhile, scaled the side and met Caspian on deck, but by the time he met him Caspian was already doing something else.

"Ready for round two!" Caspian shouted as he kicked Lucy in the abdomen. Edmund, who was on board, saw this and attempted to retaliate.

"Just what do you think you're doing!" Edmund shouted.

"Yes," Reepicheep repeated, "just what do you think you're doing?" The mouse quickly rushed over in between the two to break up the beating.

The mouse turned towards Lucy and smiled the best he could, "Are you alright?"

Lucy nodded: "Thank you."

"It is my duty," Reepicheep said, "now, get to quarters to get some rest, I'll come and check on you later."

Lucy was quickly helped up by Edmund who rushed down to the quarters to safety.

"So," Caspian said, "judging by your look, I believe you see me as primeval."

"Because you are." Reepicheep replied quickly, "Like I said before, I dare not strike a King, but I didn't say anything about a possessor."

Caspian turned around, took about five steps, extended his arms and smiled, as if wanting a brotherly embrace. He bowed slowly, still smiling but of disrespect.

Reepicheep wielded his blade, "Sire," he said, "you do realize that you have put my honor at risk, your life in danger, and my judgment on the line."

"You know you want to." Caspian said, "So do it."

Tavros came up, scaling the side for no one lowered the ladder, carrying the girl under his right arm.

"She's fine," The minotaur said, "but injured, possible concussion. Shall I see to her."

"No," Caspian said, "we have other matters."

Reepicheep turned towards Tavros and said: "If the question of morality ever comes answer justly."

Tavros nodded and slowly carried the girl down below deck, leaving the rest of the crew to deal with the drama.

_Hmm..._Reepicheep thought, _If I were going to do something crafty, now would be the time to expose him and hopefully get some answers._

The rodent smiled and cried, "Defiler!"

"Deceiver," Reepicheep took several advances forward, "Malevolent little bastard, you ridiculous swine."

Caspian turned towards Reepicheep and his face was getting red hot. Reepicheep smiled, stuck his sword in the ground and nonchalantly leaned on it and acted as if he were filing his paws.

The mouse continued: "A pestilence, menace to society, a jinni, a nefarious incubus."

Caspian pulled out his sword and swung towards the rodent who barely had to move to dodge it. Reepicheep stood up normally and continued with the taunting:

"Bigot, zealot, and well, I can just go on and on." Reepicheep smiled and walked towards his 'friend' and motioned for him to lean down. Caspian did so.

"You're the Beelzebub of this situation _aren't you_?" Reepicheep asked with a daemon smile, letting whoever it was in Caspian's head know that Reepicheep saw him, and was going to deal with the problem.

"Get away from me." Caspian said, backing as if a serpent had bit him. Reepicheep laughed to himself.

Reepicheep jumped on the railing and extended his blade to him. "Tell me what I need to know."

"No." Caspian replied.

The mouse pressed the tip of his blade against Caspian's shirt and ripped it a little, he then pressed it up against Caspian's side.

"Don't force me to do this." Reepicheep said.

Caspian laughed, the kind of laugh that a condescending person gives, the kind of laugh that if you had absolutely no soul left and no longer cared about anything you would give this, the kind of laugh that Reepicheep hated the most.

The mouse stabbed Caspian in the side, digging deep and twisting, to shatter muscle but not bone. He didn't plan on killing him, just severely injure to the point of common sense. Caspian fell on his knees to the ground, taking Reepicheep with him. The fallen King looked at the rodent with eyes of betrayal. The rodent replied with:

"Remember, you made me do this."

"You didn't have to-"

"Yes sire I did." Reepicheep said, "I had to do it for the safety and security of us all and of us both." It was here that the mouse got close and personal with him:

"Listen to me I am willing to fight and die for you but you must be willing to fight and die for you also do you understand?"

"Alright." Caspian said, "Say whatever it is you have to say."

"You didn't answer my question." Reepicheep said.

"Because I'm not him." Caspian replied.

"You are mad," Reepicheep replied, "a psychotic maniac who has done nothing but cause misery and grief. You are making a war out of me sire. I will fight it, believe me, I will do so until I can no longer, but you're killing yourself."

"No you are." Caspian said, "You're wasting your time."

"Do you fear?" Reepicheep asked.

"Of course I do."

"I was talking to Caspian you idiot." Reepicheep replied harshly, "Now I don't know how to get to you but I do know that whatever it is you fear, if anything, then let me cast it out."

"What?" Caspian asked confused.

"Let me cast that fear out!" Reepicheep said a bit louder.

Tavros came up slowly, carrying a rag it was clean, a bad or good sign. Reepicheep looked up and asked:

"How is she?"

Tavros shook his head. "I'm sorry, the girl is dead."

Reepicheep sighed, nodded, looked at Caspian with a glare of blame, and leaving his sword in Caspian's side, the mouse went below deck.

The girl was beautiful, her chestnut colored hair contrasted with her white dress with faded flowers. She was placed on the next to Eustace. Reepicheep walked over.

He dare not desecrate a grave, so he stood reverently and spoke:

"Anything you wish to talk about?"

He got not answer.

Above deck, he could hear some type of fuss, the mouse was half tempted to go up and investigate but his place at the moment was here. He stood in silence looking up at this girl, this complete stranger for thirty minutes.

The father was in the back crying, Reepicheep could say a million lines of poetry but it would make no difference, the amount of grief was too great and Reepicheep was just a mouse. Nonetheless, he walked over to the threshold of the room the father was in and guarded it not letting anyone pass him.

A splash of water masked the father's tears.

When the father was done and finished with his tears, he stepped over Reepicheep and was about to completely ignore him when the man turned, looked down at the rodent and said: "Tha-"

"Don't say anything." Reepicheep said. "You've said all the words we've all been thinking, you were just brave enough to cry them out. I salute you greatly sir." He performed a respectful bow and looked up for a response. The father nodded his head twice and left quickly with Reepicheep close behind.

Reepicheep stopped at the base of the stairs and let the father go up and close the gate, the mouse could get through anyway.

"_How did we come to this? When was this ever normal? What can we do about it?_" These were questions that were racing through Reepicheep's head and after a moment of thinking he answered all of them:

"All walls are made of stone, and stone isn't unbreakable, just difficult to break."

The mouse walked up the stairs and found a light rain was falling, the wind was blowing, and Eustace had been slain.


	37. The Hurt and the Healer

_** The Hurt and the Healer**_

The deck all stood silent as Reepicheep re-entered. It was grim, for they all knew something was wrong.

Reepicheep looked around and noticed something off about all this and made an assumption of the situation:

_Every single man is lamented, cursing their inner demons to crawl into abysses and die there._

Caspian was on the floor bleeding but very much alive. Reepicheep's sword was in his hand- it was submerged in red. The King cried due to loss, his head was clear, his mind no longer clouded. Reepicheep walked over to him and asked him to look at him. Caspian did so and the mouse saw grief, pain, misery, all the pain in the world written upon his face.

"I'm sorry." Caspian said to the rodent, still crying, "I know you two were close."

"He was a brother to us all." The mouse said.

Edmund was trying to hide all emotion, but being a human being and only a child still, he broke down. He walked over to Caspian, kneeled beside him, placing a arm around him, and swayed. They both revealed their grief and Reepicheep learned two things: grief and humanity correlate. The mouse said and did nothing but stand there and watch them share of moment of uniform pain. The only thing that kept him from breaking down at that moment was his way of grief. Private and consul of one.

* * *

Reepicheep left them alone after a while and went into the Captain Quarters to see what the next step would be. He figured he could play receiver of message for a day.

The Captain was hunching over a table with a map, using a compass he was charting the course. The mouse noticed that he was agonizing over something, because the Captain was shaking his head in frustration, as if he were about to tear his hair out. The mouse naturally made his way for the door, sensing the personal matter and privacy that was needed for it to be solved when the Captain, who noticed him said:

"Stay."

Reepicheep nodded and turned towards him, saying nothing, and simply watched.

_Interestingly, _the mouse said, _his distraught face is unmoving but his legs and feet are pacing._

"Lose something?" Reepicheep asked.

"W-what?" the Captain said a bit taken aback by the question.

"I said did you lose something?" The mouse repeated as he walked towards the table.

"My sanity." The Captain answered.

Reepicheep laughed to himself: "You described the prime excuse for fear which is simply a mere allusion, a façade, and a glorious sham."

The Captain nodded and walked to the other side of the table, offering to help the mouse up by offering his hand.

"I don't do that." Reepicheep said with a 'you must be insane if you really think I'm going to ride in your hand' type of face.

"Ah that's right, apologizes." The Captain said and made his way back around to his place. Reepicheep scaled the leg of the table and was up and over as if he were training for it all his life.

"Where are we?" The rodent asked.

"Oh I'd say right about here." The Captain replied pointing at the map. Reepicheep walked on the map and headed eastward.

"Here is where we are going." The mouse said. "Now what are you questioning?"

"The reality of it. There's nothing there according to this. We're going blind!"

"Blind isn't the word sir, for maps can be incorrect when sailing the world, the only true compasses that can truly be reliable is Polaris and faith."

"What if I can't see the bloody star Reepicheep?" The Captain cried, "I want to be sure of where we are going."

"Of course you do," Reepicheep said, "everyone wants to be sure but no one ever is, that is why you must turn to faith every morning. I said there are two compasses not strictly one. You forgot faith, if you forget that then we might as well be falling off the edge."

The rodent looked out the window and noticed that a rainstorm was moving in.

"We're coming into some weather." Reepicheep said.

"Are we?" The Captain turned around, and said in a 'I really don't care about anything anymore' sort of way:

"Oh, so we are."

Reepicheep shot a glance of surprise. "Is your faith so little that you cannot navigate through a rainstorm?"

"Yes." The Captain said.

"Well, do you believe in your crew to see you through?"

"Of course I do." The Captain answered.

"Then why do you fear?" The mouse asked.

"Because I don't think I can see it through Reepicheep."

Reepicheep sighed, and for a moment, his hope dwindled as he thought of what to say to help the poor man, to do something to instill some sort of vigor, some form of belief.

"You have a duty to your crew to pull through," Reepicheep said, "we're going to die without some course direction."

"Tavros is the helmsman, he is perfectly capable."

Reepicheep nodded , closed his eyes and thought again. When he opened them again he saw the Captain staring blankly out the window as if he were considering the end. The Captain took a deep breath noticing the water was getting choppier and choppier and the wind fiercer and fiercer, the ship rocked a bit. The Captain looked towards a weapon rack which was located on the wall to the right. There was, very precariously, a battle axe, that was lethally sharpened.

"Captain," Reepicheep said as he made his way to the edge of the table. "do you wish to do so?"

"Yes Reepicheep, I wish to do so."

"I will not stop you," Reepicheep replied. The Captain nodded in thanks as moved toward the weapon rack.

"But know that I will lose a father."

The Captain turned towards him. "What did you say?"

"I will lose a father," Reepicheep said, "to see me through the storm."

"I can't do it Reepicheep, not when there's the unknown."

"What is unknown?" The mouse asked.

"The destination."

"We may not discover it unless we get through the storm, unless you get us through the storm. You're the Captain damn it, don't stand there and let fear control you. You can control the outcome, now go and take charge!"

"It's not that simple Reepicheep."

"That's fear talking again," the mouse said, "you're too blinded by fear and worry that you no longer see the reward in life so you doom the rest of us."

"The crew can handle itself." The Captain said and made his way towards the weapon rack again. He picked up the battle axe.

"What of the guilt, it would break their hearts to know of this."

"You'll take care of them." The Captain replied.

"I'm not a therapist, simply a mouse sir. You're my Captain, now see me through!"

"Why?"

The rain began to pelt down with force, the ship was furiously fighting.

"Because I have belief in you! You think you're alone in a never-ending storm? Fine! So am I sir! So am I! A storm that rages more fierce than this and one that drains hope and faith but it cannot drain the belief that we can surface above it, charge through it and survive."

The Captain lifted the weapon, and heard the small unsheathing of a sword. The Captain looked over and saw that Reepicheep was mirroring his motions.

"I will do it sire." Reepicheep said.

"No you won't."

"Yes I will," the mouse said, "if you have fallen so far to not find belief or hope and denounce all faith, if you find yourself alone, you're not."

"Put it away Reepicheep."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Put it away," the Captain said, "that's an order."

"I'm sorry I believe only the Captain can do that at the moment." Reepicheep said.

"I am the Captain-"

"No you're not, you said it yourself. You're a nobody, a simple old fool who is caught in a storm." Reepicheep said, smiling a bit but being careful not to show his trickery too much. It was still a delicate situation.

The mouse then placed the tip of his blade up against himself just over the stomach- seppuku.

"Reepicheep, stop this you're being-"

"Ridiculous?" The mouse said finishing the Captain's sentence in the form of a question.

The Captain nodded and saw the connection. He put the battle axe back on the rack.

Reepicheep safely sheathed his sword and stood there. The Captain turned towards him, "You believe in me?"

"Is it raining?" Reepicheep asked.

"Yes." The Captain said.

"Your answer then." Reepicheep replied.

The ship rocked a bit, a wave had come up over the deck, water slowly poured in from underneath the door.

A fierce knock.

"Come in." The Captain said.

"Sir," it was Edmund, "which way do we go?"

The Captain turned towards the mouse who motioned a continue forward motion with his paw. The Captain nodded and walked towards the boy: "Continue on."

"But sir it's-"

"Just a rainstorm."

"Aren't you afraid of-"

"Death?" The Captain said. "Of course, but I think we'll be fine." He looked back towards the mouse who simply bowed with an extension of his front paws in a t motion, welcoming his services to him.

"Continue onward Your Majesty." The Captain said, still looking at the rodent who stood in the same position, waiting for response. The Captain did the same motion, bowed with an extension of his arms in a t motion, welcoming his services to him.

"Gramercy." Reepicheep said.

"What does that mean?" The Captain asked.

"That sir," Reepicheep said with a smile as he jumped from the table, "is an entirely different conversation."


	38. Full Circle

_**Full Circle**_

The storm passed and when the clouds cleared and the seas were calm again the crew took a sigh of relief.

At the moment, Reepicheep was still in the Captain's Quarters, for he waited the storm out there. He was standing on the desk as if he were born to do it.

A knock at the door.

"It's open." The rodent said.

Entrance of the knocker- Tavros.

"We have a request for you on deck," The minotaur said rather gravely, "it appears that-"

"Say no more Tavros," Reepicheep replied, jumping from the desk and walking towards the door, "whoev'r ask'd of me shall receive me yarely."

Lionel was bleeding on the deck. A gash on the shoulder was taking his life. His face was losing color, the eyes, a loss of innocence.

_"Reepicheep."_ He murmured, _"I, I need you."_

Upon seeing this and hearing his name Reepicheep made his way over slowly, examining everything from the boards to the crow's nest making mental notes as he went along.

Blood on the boards five feet from the mast. _Result of impact._

Cracking of the deck. _Evidence of impact._

Cracking of the mast itself. _More evidence, storm damage._

Lionel's bloody shoulder and loss of color. _Severe damage of the shoulder, extensive amount of blood loss. Begin praying._

"You look like you've seen better." Reepicheep said trying to find some sort of humor in all this.

Lionel smiled a bit. "Damned storm caused me to fall from my post. Seems I was meant to die here."

"If you are, then you will not do so alone." The mouse said smile growing a bit bigger.

"Thank you," the centaur said, fading a bit. "for believing in me."

"One should always have belief in his brothers."

"Tell Caspian," Lionel said, "that I'm sorry."

"For dying? What a preposterous thing to apologize for! You should be-"

"Someone once asked me if the light at the end was beautiful. I think I can answer his question." The centaur looked at his friend, his abettor and smiled. "I'm going home Reepicheep, I see a light, and it's beautiful."

Reepicheep reached up, closed his eyes, took a sigh of relief and said the last rites he knew: "The darkness and disillusions of this world pass away. The light and inspiration of the next shall overtake you. May you never fall from there, and if you do, let me lift you up. Fly on justice. Fly on."

"He was a good man. He will be missed."

Reepicheep looked over and saw Edmund standing near the railing.

"Indeed he will Sire." Reepicheep said. "He was exceptional."

"You know I just realized something." Edmund said.

"Epiphanies are marvels of the mind, care to elaborate on said truth?"

"I just realized that today is Sunday," Edmund replied, "Eustace's birthday. I miss him Reep, I miss him more than I loved him."

"Do not speak of it anymore." Reepicheep said, "Let's converse about something else."

"I had that dream again, well, a similar one."

"Really? Do tell."

Edmund nodded: "I'm standing in the same place I was in the dream actually."

"You mean you dreamt of the ship?" Reepicheep asked.

"Yes, and you were sitting right where you are now, and for some reason you were looking at me as if you were about to kill me."

"If you're worried that I may inflict death upon you, Your Majesty know that you have never given me a reason to do so and you never will." Reepicheep said.

"I'm just afraid that what happened to Caspian will happen to you that's all."

"Best see me through then." The mouse said. "Shall we partake in supper?"

"I suppose."

Edmund walked towards the food line, which was slowly being constructed. He looked back to make sure that the mouse was following him.

"You coming-" he paused, "Reepicheep?"

He wasn't there.

"Reepicheep, where'd you go?" Edmund asked walking toward the rail.

"A bit of help if you don't mind Your Majesty!" Reepicheep called rather loudly. He was hanging off the side of the railing and was slipping, seconds from falling into the water.

"Climb up then." Edmund said, offering a hand.

"Afraid I can't do that at the moment, Sire, I don't know why but _something_ is keeping me down." Reepicheep said as he tried to pull himself up but to avail. His grip weakened, his strength diminished completely. He fell.

"Man overboard!" Edmund cried and jumped in.

Reepicheep fell towards the bottom of the sea, fighting and struggling to breath and gain control. Whatever it was it was killing him.

_I do not wish to die yet, _Reepicheep thought, _but if it be so then I have no regrets. None whatsoever._

Edmund hit the water, he swam down, saw the mouse, picked up him and surfaced.

"Gramercy." Reepicheep said a bit breathy.

"No trouble at-" Edmund stopped. He winced.

"Trouble?" Reepicheep asked.

"Something's caught my leg." Edmund said.

"Let me see about it." the mouse replied.

Reepicheep dove down. He heart stopped a moment, he quickly surfaced.

Edmund was struggling to keep afloat.

"Your Majesty," the mouse said, "you're going to lose a leg."

"What!?"

"Don't move, I'll see if I can remedy it, just don't panic." Reepicheep dove again.

Caspian looked over the edge, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Edmund said, "Reepicheep fell in, I dove after him and now I can't move."

"Did you break something?"

"No. I don't-AHHHHH!" A piercing cry of fear came from him. Edmund fought to saying above the water but the pain was too great. He went under.

Reepicheep quickly resurfaced moments later, distressed and catching his breath. He looked like he was about to kill himself.

"What happened?" Caspian asked, fearful and annoyed.

"I'm so sorry," Reepicheep cried out, "I couldn't hold on any longer!"

"What happened!" Caspian screamed.

"King Edmund is bleeding at the bottom of the sea."

"What did you do!?"

"Necessary measures!" Reepicheep said, "Now if you'll excuse me." He dove again.

Caspian watched and waited:

Ten seconds...thirty seconds...one minute...two minutes...three minutes.

Caspian was about to jump in when the mouse resurfaced, struggling to breathe.

"I couldn't...save him." Reepicheep said.

Caspian dove in, grabbed the fatigued mouse and laid him on the deck.

"What happened down there?"

"Ever seen the face of the devil?" Reepicheep asked.

"No." Caspian answered.

"He's taken him...he's not dead, or at least, I hope he's not. He's just gone Sire. He's just gone."

"We'll get him back Reepicheep, I'll promise you that."

Reepicheep nodded and slowly walked to his quarters and kept to his thoughts:

_"You really think that you are on that floating piece of wood. Have you ever stopped to think that I am on that same plank, and that I myself am being ripped apart with you?"_

As the mouse climbed into his cot to sleep he sighed, closed his eyes and said:

"This beast of yours, the one that pulls you down, that I'm not sure of, but whatever it is, remember that I'm stuck on the wood plank too."

He paused.

"I know his name too."


	39. The Devil is Far Worse to Look At

_**The Devil Is Far Worse to Look At**_

_"Reepicheep, you have to save me."_

Edmund called to him in his sleep.

_"Reepicheep, I can't hold on any longer. You have to save me!"_

The mouse opened his eyes and felt unnaturally cold.

"One would think death is upon me, it's freezing in here!"

He pulled his blanket over and tossed a bit, trying to get some sleep.

_"Reepicheep."_

"Who's there?" The mouse asked. He sat up and looked around, seeing nothing.

"I wilt be hearing things." Reepicheep said and closed his eyes again.

He slept.

Three hours later, a finger cold as winter ran up his spine. He opened his eyes and lay there motionless.

"Whoev'r is hither they hast mine attention. Now what be your business?" He turned himself over and looked Death straight in the face.

"W-what are you-"

Death made no sound, he exited the room and headed towards the deck. Reepicheep followed, grabbing his sword on the way out.

"Alright what is it you want?" Reepicheep asked the specter again once they were above quarters.

Death said nothing, he walked towards the railing and without thinking picked the mouse up.

"Unhand me right now or I'll-"

Death didn't let him finish, instead, he just threw Reepicheep out towards the sea and disappeared.

* * *

Once again, the mouse found himself in water.

_Like before I'm being bogged down. I wonder if I'll actually die this time._

The mouse looked over, his lungs slowly filling with water at this point, and saw Death, standing there in front of him. The reaper opened his mouth and inhaled- creating an air pocket. Reepicheep stabilized himself and discovered that Death was creating an invisible floor.

"You wish to show me something?" Reepicheep asked.

Death stood silent but stood to the side, revealing Edmund.

He was alive, but just barely. His right leg was cut off, the head badly bruised, and the right ear was gone. Edmund looked out, saw the mouse and smiled:

"I thought you'd be dead by now. Diving in again and out again."

"Amusing." Reepicheep said with a bit of sarcasm.

"I'm glad you tried though, it's a rarity to have loyal friends." Edmund said

Reepicheep nodded and advanced slowly, keeping a keen eye on Death. "Has this, _gentleman,_ been sustaining you?"

"Oh, Death, yes he has. He's actually quite nice once you get to know them."

"Yes for someone who stays silent," Reepicheep said, "I'd wager he's very cordial."

His tail swayed back and forth. His eyes kept looking back at the Dark Malevolence, trying to search for the logical reasoning of his involvement.

"Dearest apologizes about the leg. Call me overzealous."

"Overzealous."

Reepicheep smiled, "I see you've developed a sense of humor."

"And you a sense of caution. What's the matter, you're all- tense."

"Your Majesty, I'm tense (as you so put it) because Death is literally staring you in the face!"

Death moved his hand outward, the mouse pulled his sword and looked him in the eye.

"I've seen the devil, believe me he's far worse to look at."

Death resumed his former position.

"He's just being protective." Edmund said.

"Now you're talking ridiculous." Reepicheep replied looking back at him, "You seriously believe that Death, _Death_ mind you, is being an abettor for you?"

"Yes."

Reepicheep looked at Edmund's eyes- they were black bottomless holes, as if decay had already taken them.

"I've been talking to a cadaver, how wonderful." Reepicheep said with sarcasm. "So if he's dead, then that means that-"

"He's not dead."

"I beg your pardon?" Reepicheep asked turning towards Death, "Did you say something?"

Death nodded. "He's not dead."

"If he's not dead and he's not himself then where or better yet _whom_ is he?"

"He's himself and where he is, well, you're standing in his grave." Death said.

"What do you ask me of so I can find him?" Reepicheep asked.

"You would risk your life for him?"

"Yes, I can say that for them all. Without a question or quarrel in my mind."

"You would kill for him?" Death asked.

"Any man who stands against them." Reepicheep said.

"In order to save Edmund," Death said, "then you must kill another. Life for life."

"Who?"

"Lucy Pevensie."

Reepicheep shook his head, "I could never force myself to do that."

"If you don't then Edmund dies."

"Then he dies." Reepicheep said. "At least he goes with honor and respect."

"You'll be risking everyone else's lives if you don't."

"I'd rather see them all die then." Reepicheep said.

"You'd rather have me kill everyone than for you to kill one and me spare the rest?" Death asked a bit confused.

"Yes, if we go down, then we go down together as family."

"Some family you are." Death said with a laugh.

"Don't you dare mock my kin in such a way!" The mouse shouted, bring the tip of his blade to Death's cloak. "They are _my _brothers, _my_ sisters, _my_ fathers, _my_ sons, they're _mine_! If you take them then you take me. If you break them, then I am frail. I refuse to kill her and that's my final word but if I see you perform it, if she be dead by your bloody scythe, then know I will curse and peruse you 'til time ends. For thou unfit for any place but hell!"

"Oh, Shakespeare are we?" Death said with a chuckle.

"Richard III," Reepicheep corrected, "surprised someone as dimwitted and fetid as you has heard of him."

"Surprised someone as bothersome and brash as you has heard of him."

"Introduced by a friend," the mouse said, "now if you'll excuse me, I have another business to attend to."

Reepicheep stabbed Death in what he perceived to be the ankle but the mouse quickly noticed that his entire arm just went through him as if Death were transparent.

Death laughed, "I'll race you to the surface. You win, I'll give you a slightly longer life."

"And if I lose?"

"Then you die." Death said.

Reepicheep nodded, agreeing informally to the terms. He looked back at Edmund and sighed: "I'm sorry Sire, it has been a pleasure serving you." He saluted.

"I'll give you a ten second head start." Death said. "Starting as soon as the air pocket dissapears."

The air pocket disappeared. Reepicheep quickly swam up, he was almost home free when he realized that he was stopped.

_Oh, so that's your game is it?_

Death behaved like a torpedo. The mouse had to think quickly and logically.

_He's holding me down three inches from the surface. He's speeding towards me and my head start is gone. Think for a moment. What's the one thing he loves more than himself?_

Reepicheep stopped moving and held his breath.

Death came up to him and was confused why the mouse wasn't praying for his life or reciting his will. He rolled his eyes and released him.

"What's the point of doing your job if no one suffers?" Death said to himself.

* * *

Reepicheep scrambled to the deck and literally kissed it.

"Oh glorious wood, how thankful I am that you are still here and that nightmare is over!"

Not exactly." Death said who stood before him.

Reepicheep stood up slowly, "So you are serious about this then?"

Death nodded, "I am, and if you won't then I will."

The specter turned and made his way to the quarters.

Reepicheep ran past Death on all fours, jumped, clearing all the stairs and without losing momentum, alerted the crew quickly and loudly as he could making his way towards Lucy's room:

"Bulwarks, assassin in the midst, to arms!"

The crew got up as quick as they could and readied themselves but did so in confusion.

"What's going on?" One of them asked.

"I don't know, Reepicheep just came through here yelling something about an assassin or something."

Reepicheep entered the room, forgetting his manners at the moment and beheld the power of Death.

"Reepicheep," Lucy said, looking at him fearfully, "help me please!"

Death had her in a choke hold and lifted her up in the air. He squeezed harder with each passing second.

Reepicheep lunged forward hurling himself through the air and doing everything he could but failed miserably.

Footsteps approached.

"What's going on?" It was Caspian with sword in hand.

Death looked up and smiled, "Oh, if it isn't my old friend."

He summoned a knife and handed it to Lucy. Death eased his grip.

"What are you going to do?" Lucy asked.

"Nothing," Reepicheep replied, who was in front of her now, "if he does then he ironically dies."

"Amusing." Death said.

"I developed a sense of humor!" The mouse jumped in the air and stabbed Death in the back.

Death let go of Lucy and removed Reepicheep's sword, mouse included from his back.

"You are one hell of a pain." Death said laughing as he said this.

"Amusing." Reepicheep replied.

"I've developed sense of humor." Death said and threw the mouse hard against the wall.

Caspian entered and slowly advanced.

Death outstretched his hand. Caspian stopped moving.

The specter looked towards Reepicheep. The mouse stood up.

"If you think that you're going to-" Reepicheep started to say.

"Oh, I plan on it." Death said with a smile.

Caspian, Reepicheep, Lucy, and the rest of the crew raised their arms. They all had weapons in hand.

"You said that you would rather see them die now. That if you go down, that you went down together as family. I'm sure this isn't what you had in mind but, I'm willing to give you one last chance." Death said.

He walked over towards the mouse and leaned in, just as everyone in a quick motion pointed the tips of their swords, maces, and whatever else at their torsos- seppuku.

"You kill yourself and I'll spare them a few more seconds."

"Why do you want me dead?" Reepicheep asked.

"It's fun when you have opposition," Death said, "but there comes a time when you have to weed some of them out. You give them a bit of hope, something to look forward to in the morning. That doesn't necessarily work for me. So, you kill yourself now and they die, or you all die together- as a family, just like you want."

"But it isn't about what I want." Reepicheep said. He looked around the room slowly.

"Don't do it!" Lucy cried out.

"I'm afraid that wasn't an option, Your Majesty."

"No you idiot," Caspian said, "we'll all go out together, you don't deserve to-"

"But you deserve to live Sire." Reepicheep said, "It may be a few seconds more but you deserve them. You all do. Who am I to cause us all to have a simultaneous execution? I'm nothing more than a mouse."

"You saved my life." Caspian replied, "I'd say you're just a little bit more than a mouse. I'd say you're a King. Foolish of me to think I was one."

"You're going to make me cry Sire." Reepicheep said with a smile.

Caspian laughed. "Amusing."

"I've developed a sense of humor." Reepicheep said. He turned to Lucy:

"Chin up there! At least we're all in the same boat. Pardon the pun, but it's true. We all have knives up against our throats thanks to this sadistic little asshole."

"Thank you for the compliment." Death said.

"You can fuck yourself." Reepicheep replied, "Still waiting for me to give myself up?"

"Yes." Death replied, "I can play the waiting game, but you're testing my patience."

"You have thin tolerance for it then." Reepicheep said feeling his blade slowly stabbing him.

"You know," the mouse said, "I was just beginning to wonder, what is it underneath that hood of yours?"

"None of your business." Death said.

"Is Death afraid of insults?" Reepicheep asked.

"No, but he is afraid of his appearance."

"Pity." The mouse said, "Is it because you're so repulsive that you yourself _hate_ yourself?" He asked, the blade making him bleed a little.

"I don't hate myself!"

"You must hate someone if you wish to kill us all. Who could that possibly be?" Reepicheep said rolling his eyes and laughing.

"If you think it's that lion then you're wrong."

"I think," Reepicheep said, as he broke his flesh and entered some muscle. He grunted and flinched. A tear fell. "That you are! You used to be his prize didn't you?"

"Wrong person." Death said. "That's Tash, I'm-"

"His _son?_" Reepicheep asked. The pain was growing, he was getting weaker, and weaker, and he knew that he was dying.

"You answered correctly." Death said.

"So," the mouse fell on his knees and gasped for breath, "you're...the..Beelzebub of the situation aren't you?"

"Stop it!" Lucy cried in fear.

"It's too late Lucy." Caspian said, "He's going."

Death laughed, "That's right rat, that's me, good old Beelzebub."

"I'm...a...mouse...you arrogant...bastard."

Death nodded. "My apologizes, but you're taking too long. Tell you what, I'll do this instead."

He took a breath and slowly, the rodent's strength was returning and his movements went backwards. Everything was reversing.

"Better to have an opposition?" Reepicheep asked.

"Better to have an interesting opposition, besides, seeing you die made me sad. Me. That's saying a lot."

"I don't know if that was a compliment or not."

The wounds, the muscles were healed and Reepicheep was given control of himself again.

Caspian and Lucy looked at each other then at Reepicheep who said simply: "Gramercy."

It was over after that. The crew died slowly. Reepicheep closed his eyes and wept.

When the pleads for mercy and last words were over, Death left Reepicheep to himself.

"I told you that if you were to hurt them then I will curse and peruse you 'til time ends. I'm sure this isn't what you had in mind but, I'm willing to give you one last chance" The mouse said.

"Ten second head start?" Death asked.

Reepicheep opened his eyes. "Five."

"Five, but that's-"

"Start running! One...two...three...four..."


	40. Albatross

_**Albatross**_

Reepicheep emerged from the sea, coughing, cold, and wet. His little body shivering as he swam toward the side the Dawn Treader. His paws ached from pain and his heart grieved of loss. He thought of Edmund Pevensie, who was at the bottom of the sea dying from asphyxiation.

There was nothing to be done about it, a call for assistance perhaps but it would be no use, and the poor boy would be dead before any help could come.

A King died for me today. Reepicheep thought. It was my fault- my blame, and I should, if this were a just world, be executed for failure to preform my duties.

The poor rodent continued to inch his way closer to the boat, he could almost reach out and touch the wood. As he moved forward, he maneuvered his tail back and forth like a rudder to keep himself afloat and his little legs in a slow, melodic, scissor cut motion. Reepicheep stretched his arm to its full extent and jumped to grasp the port side. His tail was barely out of the water before he plummeted down into the water again. He surfaced, took a breath, and tried a second time, realizing that this second would be the last the Mouse prayed he was lucky and leaped forward. Upon opening his eyes again, Reepicheep discovered that his paws were ferociously clinging to a very slick and nearly impossible port side. Wasting no time, the Mouse climbed up the wood rather slowly and logically, as if he were silently escaping a ravenous cave bear.

A wind blew slightly, making the sails ruffle and weave a bit. The ropes swayed back and forth sweetly, in tune with an ancient lullaby of forgiveness and love. Reepicheep's fur was still soaked with water, and he figured that he had to either be wrung out or just wait until he naturally dried himself. As he reached onto the main rail, the Mouse slipped and almost fell back into the water, but he dug up his strength and pulled himself up and over to safety.

Flopping onto the deck, Reepicheep landed on his stomach. Too tired to care and too tire to move, the Mouse smiled, laughed, and closed his eyes.

"Oh glorious wood, how thankful I am that you are still here and that nightmare is over!"

"Not exactly." A ghostly voice echoed through a silent wind. The sails were motionless and the ropes ceased their singing.

The Mouse's ears perked up attentively, slowly listening and hearing for any signs of familiarity within the voice but found none. Reepicheep opened his eyes and still too tuckered out to move, looked around and discovered nothing but sameness and normalcy. The sails resumed their post and the ropes continued their taut while ship and crew dreamed their dreams.

As Reepicheep lay on the deck, he too succumbed to sleep and even though it was uncomfortable, he did not complain, at least it was better than-

"Your Majesty!"

The Mouse's call echoed ghoulishly throughout the sleeping cadaver that was the boat. All around him were sounds from hell, sights from hell, and dreams from hell. He scurried back onto the railing, looked out into the sea and beheld Death, standing with his a pike in his right hand and his scythe in his left. The impaled corpse of Edmund Pevensie slowly descended down the sadistic pole leaving behind nothing but a trail of entrails and blood. Edmund's head moved toward the boat slowly, his neck creaked like a rusted door hinge and his eyes were that of milk. The sky swirled into a storm, slowly constricting whatever light or hope there was from the world. The sea became choppy and unsettling and just as the sympathy of the earth died, so did the notion of peaceful rain. Nature was at war with itself.

Winds beat the sails into submission and as the Dawn Treader cried out for mercy in this torture, Reepicheep dutifully watched Death descend into the water. When Edmund's body touched the sea, his head turned towards the sky and screamed as water filled up his lungs and worms destroyed his stomach and brain, decomposing the body before the body was finished living.

The Mouse cried as the un-honorable ceremony went on. He thought about jumping into the sea once again, but then it would the same situation as before. A failed attempt at rescue. Instead, Reepicheep shook his head and let the rain beat down against his fur. He shivered and internally screamed at himself to do something, but his heart told him to stay where he was and grieve for once in his life.

As the wind prevailed over the boat's sails, the waves rose in confidence as they submerged Death and Edmund under their malicious surface.

Reepicheep looked out into the storm and noticed that there was only the sea and great misery. He submitted to his knees not necessarily caring if he was teetering over the edge or not and cried.

Oh, you poor simplistic creature…

"Will you be quiet, whoever it is you are?!" Reepicheep screamed.

I cannot do that…

The Mouse turned back towards the mast and standing near an apple barrel was a black horse. Its rider, a headless behemoth, carried his skinless skull, which had a gash in the cranium, in his right hand. His eyes were soulless, but his mouth was more gentle and forgiving. He wore a suit of tarnished black armor. The rider moved his left arm and pointed eastward as if to give direction and as he did so the armor squeaked from rust and use.

Reepicheep fixed his gaze eastward and noticed a blue light stretch across the horizon as if Regency, the Star of the Eastern Border, had suddenly became a giant and was engulfing and transforming the sea from one of water into one of fire.

"What is happening here?" Reepicheep asked.

The rider said nothing, merely keeping his position. Reepicheep nodded for a moment and looked back at the sea and heard the fluttering of bird wings. The waves slowly but surely rose into the sky and the sea at the bow and the sea at the stern transformed into a brace of albatrosses. Fluttering up, down, cascading forward and backward in a sewing motion and so on, the birds surrounded the boat in a fierce unwavering storm of malice. The noise was no better, for Reepicheep could barely hear anything else. The Mouse covered his ears and turned towards the rider in black who carried his head and attempted to yell over the roaring swarm.

"Explain all this, what is going on!"

The rider remained silent but summoned a large spear from the depths of his realm. The metal tip was barbed and formed a sinister hook, while the shaft was simple and still foreboding. Reepicheep uncovered his ears and sighed at the prospect of a duel.

"Sir," Reepicheep said, "I am not usually one to deny requests but do you honestly believe me to be capable of such a thing at this time."

"I do not wish for you to be capable of anything- Reepicheep." The rider replied with a vicious laugh.

At the sound of his name, The Mouse fell to the floor against his will and a sharp pain grew in his chest. He screamed out of agony but looked into the rider's face as well as the albatrosses, some of whom were beginning to land on the ship's deck and railing.

"W-what do you want with me?" The Mouse asked.

The rider laughed again, this time it was more jovial. "What I want my dear rodent, is for you to listen with your eyes!"

He bucked his horse and charged with fierce speed toward the railing and still unable to move, The Mouse simply screamed and closed his eyes. The horse and rider passed through Reepicheep's small body, filling nothing and taking all but his heart, soul, and mind. His confusion, insight, all other senses were completely absent. He was dead, in a sense, and in another sense entirely he was something of a translucence in space. The horse and rider disappeared, gone forever, in a moment of clear, conscious, confusion.

When Reepicheep's mind oriented itself, the rodent found that he was not the same as he was before. It was not like he had left the world he knew, but it was not like he knew the world he knew either.

Looking out into the sky and sea, The Mouse saw no birds, no fire, no storm- just serenity- and in this moment he thought it best to sit down on the deck and wait for someone to come on the deck and explain whatever it was that had just occurred.

Perhaps it was a dream. Reepicheep thought, Then again, I do not remember falling asleep or hearing the rustle and bustle of Eustace either. For, the boy does have the tendency to squirm. What if…it was all schizophrenic? What if I'm mad and am simply hiding that fact from myself? What if…

His thoughts were interrupted by a white albatross who sat on the railing behind him. It was large, beautiful, and carried no guilt of anything. For this albatross, like all albatrosses, do nothing in the way of harm or malice, they simply fly around mariners vessels and wish them happy voyages.

Reepicheep turned towards the bird and realizing that it was not sentient like him, stood in awe- for he had never seen such a large benevolent bird up close and personal before.

"Well," The Mouse said, "you are a sight of beauty. I trust you and your brothers will see us well."

The albatross said nothing of course and took off to the wind again as if to say that he really didn't care on what Reepicheep had to say. The bird flew up toward the mast and main sail and began to peck with its beak small holes in the sail, slowly turning it into a board of ripped shreds.

Reepicheep huffed and rolled his eyes as he trudged toward the mast and scaled it quickly. As he climbed higher and higher into the massive sea of crème white tapestries and silk woven pieces into the rafters of a great hall in a glamorous castle, a chill ran up his spine and mid-way through the ascent, Reepicheep froze into place….

Go on without me, Sire. Please, I beg of you to consider your life.

"I have considered it, and for your sake and the others, I have made up my mind…"

Reepicheep shook his head as well as the rest of his body from his head to his toes to the tip of his tail awake.

"Those were the last words he spoke to me." Reepicheep said. "To think they were so simple."

A westerly wind gust blew in, forcing the ship forward to the east. As the sails sprung into the pursuit of the goal a small voice spoke among the rope and metal hooks keeping them in place. Listen with your eyes.

Reepicheep continued his climb and noticed that the albatross was gone by the time he had reached the top, but instead, something or someone else was there. That particular someone was me.

I should probably introduce myself, don't want to cause any more confusion if I haven't already. This is August- Dauphin of the Great Dominion and to give a brief description: I am an extremely large red tail hawk.

Pleasure as always.

"Hello," I said rather cordially, "I take you were expecting someone else."

"A much smaller bird yes." Reepicheep said, bowing at the waist and lowering his head slightly.

Rolling my eyes and huffing at the mannerism I waved him off with my wing and yawned sarcastically.

"Yes, yes, formalities, formalities- anyhow, do you know why I am here?"

"No sir." Reepicheep said.

"I am here," I answered, "because someone told me that you have albatrosses."

The Mouse nodded his head and looked down at the deck and beheld not albatrosses but the crew working as usual. The Captain was protruding into other people's business, Eustace was tying a series of knots on rope, and Edmund was still presumed sleeping.

"Eustace," Caspian said, who was walking toward the helm, "would you be so kind as to see if Edmund is awake yet?"

"He is not in his bed sir." Eustace replied. "I know this because I checked before I came up."

"Well, that is peculiar." Caspian said. "Where is Reepicheep?"

"Up here Sire!" The Mouse called.

"They cannot hear you." I retorted.

Reepicheep turned toward me and raised his eyebrows a bit. He laughed and smiled cynically. "You must be joking. If he cannot hear me then he is either deaf or has sensitive orals, which is he neither. To be fair, I am not exactly a hard person to find. I am a Mouse after all."

I smiled, shook my head, and sighed. "You have albatrosses Reepicheep."

"I know-"

To say that I cut him off would have been an understatement. Instead, I threw him off the mast. He spun and cursed and screamed like anyone would when being hurled into space and when he landed in the water I shouted down to the crew:

"Do not go in after him! For he must resurface in his own and on his own time."

The crew hesitantly waited a full minute before their nature urges kicked in. Reepicheep, while in the sea, discovered his albatross adrift in the dark blue water and swimming to it, found that he was not only still dead and impaled with a pike, but also surrounded by a seven thousand albatrosses.


	41. PART SEVEN

**-PART SEVEN-**

**In Concerning the World of Man: Part IV**

* * *

**_Chauncey_**

_Paris, France_

_August 24__th__, 1943_

_2355 hours_

Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace entered the sea on a Tuesday. On that same Tuesday, in a different part of the universe all together, another group, comprised of three individuals, a German liberator, a British doctor, and a brain dead infantryman- flung themselves off a bridge.

This bridge, like most bridges, went over a river, however, if one were to be specific, the river was the Seine, which runs through the city of Paris.

The infantryman, whose name is unimportant to history, was a British soldier who bore the insignia of the 27th Infantry. Standing at five foot six and carrying a standard Bren light machine gun, this infantryman was dead long before the coroner could do a proper inspection. Wearing a beige uniform with boots that were too small and three cigarettes in his pocket, this man literally had nothing to live for as he stood with his cohorts against the railing of Pont Alexandre III.

As the sky turned dark, artists of the city called their nightly muses to escort them to inspiration, as if it were the end of the world or the beginning of hell. Music, for music still existed Paris, was somber and bleak. The city behaved as if hope and security had somehow overnight had become meaningless words to her that she yearned to know the meaning of again. The wind, although it spoke, said nothing of joy, only of despair. The artwork of da Vinci, the Lady of the World and Venus of Botticelli, sang the mass along with Notre-Dame and Saint Denis, who realized that the only way to bring Paris out of her despair, was to remind everyone that God still existed.

On the Alexander, a British rodent who was a practitioner of medical health, stood on the left shoulder of his brain dead comrade, carrying a satchel of medical supplies over his shoulder, a belt at his waist (with a first-aid kit attached) and on his back- a backpack, which had a short quarterstaff, a small Derringer with six rounds, and a tomahawk inside.

Looking out onto the Seine, the British mouse beheld the reflection of the moon as well as a blood stained symbol. Turned forty-five degrees, the symbol of irony waved a woman carrying a bag of groceries and a man closing up his flower shop for the evening in the most condescending way a piece of cloth could. By waving to the left.

The German mouse, a practitioner of warfare and strategy, stood on the bridge railing. Carrying a similar belt with a similar first-aid kit, a rapier at his side and dawning a small cap with the symbol of the Reich upside down to signify his betrayal from debauchery, the German rodent looked up to his British counterpart and laughed. "Was werden Sie tun?"

"Speak English, Kaspar." The British mouse replied.

"What are you going to do?" Kaspar repeated.

"I'm going to do the thing my country demands of me." The British mouse said.

Kaspar nodded and turned towards the river again, "It is a shame," he said, "that it has to come to this. I guess that's what war is, it's the arrival of the things you always thought would never come." He sighed and shook his head, as if he were about to release regrets or worse, pain that only recently has surfaced.

"Which is why it must end." Chauncey replied.

"We've been at this game too long Chauncey. We're two old war dogs running out steam and time." Kaspar looked down at the river, noticing how beautiful and serine it was. The water flowed beautifully with everything that shared its space. A clean ripple against a fisherman's boat, a slight crash up against the concrete support of the bridge- all made the world seem a bit less feral.

"I think I know why we invaded Paris," Kaspar said after a brief moment of silence. "Because Hitler loves art and Paris is the city to see it. I have been told that before he was in politics, Adolf Hitler was an artist. Imagine if he would have stayed in art school."

"If he would have stayed in art school in this war probably still would have occurred Kaspar." Chauncey replied, "instead of Hitler it would have been Himmler or Goebbels and to be honest, it would probably be worse with them in charge than it is now."

Chauncey turned towards the brain dead soldier, noticing that his hair, which was short to military standard, was beginning to show signs of dandruff. The man's eyes were gray, like overcast on an autumn day where the temperature slowly begins to drop below fifty-two and the leaves blow into the wind, stirring up dismal conversations about death and the end. The lips, Chauncey noticed, were chapped from a long summer of dehydration and if the rodent were to ask of this person's mental state he would receive no answer. He would not receive an answer to anything else in the first place.

"Face it Chauncey," Kaspar said, "Drew's gone. He's been brain dead for three weeks now."

"We don't know that."

"Has he eaten?" Kaspar asked, looking at his cohort as if he were insane.

"No." Chauncey replied. "He hasn't slept or spoken either, but that means nothing. It could be hundreds of mental disorders. Schizophrenia, Shell Shock, Post-Traumatic Stress-"

"Permanent Brain Damage."

Chauncey turned toward Kaspar as if he were the devil looking up towards the heavens and cursing all things worth saving.

A horse buggy paraded down Quai d'Orsay like a sanctified regent. The horse's headed bobbed and swayed like one naturally does when listening to music. His feet clobbered against pavement, and although it was cement, the horse behaved (and somewhat wished) it were made of cobblestone. The buggy, who was in full capacity at the moment was transporting the Resistance Leader of France and the Chancellor of Germany. Behind this buggy was a large battalion of executioners, Schutzstaffel, were formed in the Spartan phalanx military formation. A machine of death followed by a machine of death.

The driver of the buggy, a Fascist Frenchman by the name of Pierre Jean-Baptiste, carried a FP-45 Liberator, a specific type of Derringer pistol, in his left pocket. A cigar case filled with German cigars in a small satchel was over his shoulder. The Reich insignia on the left and right forearm was subtle to his French native mother, who, like most French, despised the Empire to the East, much like the poor despise the rich, the rich despise the poor and both parties together despise intervention of personal and public affairs. This relationship, the double despising of intervention by outward parties, was the relationship that Pierre believed his mother to be an active member of. Madame Jean Baptiste, whose first name is unimportant to history, was always meddling and complaining about his lowly transportation work, always seeking out the good deacon he once strived to be, and always hassling him with the management of his finances. Thus the secret imitation into the Reich and the position which he currently found himself in.

"Mister de Gualle," the Chancellor, a man who needs no introduction said. "I understand that you are attempting to form a resistance?"

"That is correct Führer." de Gualle replied, leaning back up against the dark leather upholstery that was his head.

"Well," Hitler said, smiling like Cheshire Cat, "we'll just have to see about this resistance movement of yours now won't we?" He looked out towards the bridge and saw Colonel Drew McPherson and what appeared to be a very familiar looking rodent standing on the bridge rail.

"Stop please." Hitler said.

Pierre pulled on the reins of the horse, who signaled his stop by ceasing the movement of his hooves. The battalion behind the buggy halted and stood at attention. Monsieur Charles de Gualle exited the buggy on the left side towards the bridge and quickly rushed to the other side to open Führer Adolf Hitler's door. As soon as the man stepped onto the ground the entire battalion as well as Pierre Jean-Baptiste, saluted as one program.

Walking toward the bridge, Adolf Hitler placed his hands behind his back and without saying a word or looking behind him three members of the well-oiled machine followed his lead each with a Karabiner 98 Kurz, a military bolt action service rifle, loaded and with the safety off, in hand.

Chauncey and Kaspar heard the approaching footsteps and witnessed the beginning of Armageddon as Notre-Dame signaled midnight with twelve rings of the bells. On the final bell toll Adolf Hitler stood beside Drew McPherson and smiled.

"Honorary General Kaspar von Essen," Hitler said with a slight growl, "it has been two years and yet you refuse to die."

Kaspar smiled, "Du verdammter arschficker."

Hitler's face turned redder than a raddish, he wanted to burst into a ball of immature fury into screaming and swearing but decided on a different course of action. He turned back towards the three men who followed, Oskar Pawlitzki, a German from West Prussia, thirty-seven, three children and two dogs, a German shepherd and a dachshund; Omar Spellmeyer, a Berlin native, twenty-eight, no children, and a pet fish; and finally to the right Victor von Brandt, a man from Nuremberg who was there from the beginning, thirty-two, one child, and a small estate.

"Pawlitzki, Spellmeyer," Adolf said, giving them the cold misdemeanor of the devil with the eyebrows furrowed so deep the veins protruded and sweat beads collected on the ridges of skin between the eyebrows. "Bring Mister De Gualle!"

The soldiers executed an about face and sped walked toward the buggy. Chauncey moved over to Drew's right shoulder and spoke something in German, it was inaudible but obvious to Hitler that something was said so the Führer asked him to repeat it.

"I said, why are you here?" Chauncey asked.

Hitler laughed, as he turned towards Victor and repeated the message in German. Victor looked at Chauncey and shook his head.

"Dummkopf." He said.

The soldier spat directly in the rodent's face. Chauncey did nothing, he did not move or speak- he simply stood there and took the insult. As saliva ran down his fur, the Leader of France was forced down to the ground on all fours. Hitler spoke something rapidly, whatever it was it caused both Oskar and Omar to raise their rifles aiming them square in the head.

Kaspar eyed Chauncey as he slowly removed his rapier from his sheath. The English mouse shook his head and watched as Mister Charles De Gualle look Hitler in the eye and said, "I see black light."

Hitler nodded, as he turned towards Notre-Dame, "He therefore turned to mankind only with regret. His cathedral was enough for him." He smiled, "Isn't that right, Monsieur?"

Oskar and Omar slowly pressed their index fingers on their triggers- anxiously waiting to end the last resistance of their supremacy in France.

"Warten!" Hitler shouted. The two men stopped and waited as instructed. "Get him up." He said.

Oskar and Omar hoisted the man up as if he were hung out to dry. Chauncey looked towards the Frenchman, "It's going to be alright sir." He said with a smile, as if to make the situation less than what it was.

"Yes," Adolf said, "it will be perfectly alright Mister Courtney if you tell me everything it is that you know about my policies."

Chauncey sighed and lowered his head, as he slowly removed his backpack and produced his Derringer, loading it slowly. "If I were to tell you that I know just about everything including the location of Auschwitz-Birkenau and Majdanek would you believe me?"

Hitler's eyes locked onto Chauncey like a police hound. For fourteen whole seconds, the Man Who Ruled the World glared into the soul of a doctor whose only job description three years ago was tending to broken legs and distributing candy to children at blood drives and carnivals. It was something that could only be described as someone with fear at his command looking at someone who knew he would die one day. An immortal versus a member of society. Chauncey smiled at Hitler's eyes from hell and thought to himself how Adolf Hitler's mother would feel, if she were to see her son berating people into submission, executing the weak and uplifting the insane to a new level of power that extends an entire continent. When Chauncey was finished he deduced that Hitler's mother would be ashamed for a total of five minutes and then extremely proud for the next thirty-seven years.

Kaspar turned towards Oskar and Omar, and still having his rapier handy the German rodent was about three seconds from lunging forward and handling this situation himself. Charles looked up at him, eyes begging him to do something besides stand there and let him be executed by men he did not know speaking a language he did not know (very well) in his own country in the middle of the night.

"Hör auf, Hitler," Kaspar said, "Hör auf."

Hitler smiled, and while still keeping his gaze on Chauncey said, "Nicht, ihn jetzt töten."

Oskar and Omar fired. The Leader of France, Charles de Gualle, impacted the ground like a frozen slab of raw meat. There was no time between Hitler's command and de Gualle's impact- it was one fluid motion. The shot echoed throughout the bridge and under it.

"When the sun dawns," Chauncey said, "the people will hear of this. They shall rally and cry and revolt and murder all you know you."

Hitler smiled, "What a bold statement for someone who is about to die." He snapped his fingers and shouted, "Erschießen!" He turned about face and walked back to the buggy out of harm's way.

Oskar and Omar raised their rifles and five other men from the battalion rushed up to join them.

Kaspar looked up towards Chauncey, "We have to jump."

"We can't," Chauncey replied, "we can't leave Drew here."

"We have to!" Kaspar shouted, "He's gone Chauncey, he's fucking gone!"

"He's not dead yet!" Chauncey replied with equal force, noticing that the firing squad began raising their rifles.

"We have to make a decision now, die with him, or jump and finish the war." Kaspar said, looking down at the river, preparing himself. He stopped when he noticed that no movement occurred with Chauncey. The German mouse turned back and sighed, he wasn't ready to say goodbye to his friend, his wasn't ready to die, and he wasn't ready for anything. Kaspar jumped onto Drew's right shoulder and stood in front of Chauncey like a father stepping in front of his son to save him from a literal bullet.

"Chauncey," Kaspar said, "I need you to go."

"Kaspar," Chauncey replied, "I can't do that."

"Yes you can," Kaspar said, "now go!"

The Supreme German officer of the firing squad, who was Victor, gave the order to fire. As the Germans applied pressure to the triggers Chauncey jumped for the river. An immediately death storm of bullets and fury ascended upon all three of them. As empty shells hit the concrete littering Kaspar and Drew with inescapable bullets, Chauncey impacted the water. Omar, hearing a small splash, fired into the river in a continuous circle where the ripples were. Chauncey slowly made his way to the bridge and hid underneath it. The echoes of bullets stopped.

The world was silent as the sky turned navy. A southern wind blew as the firing squad, the buggy and the rest of them began to leave. When all was apparently quite again, Chauncey swam back out to the river.

"Kaspar!" He called. Chauncey's voice echoed through the archway and even below the surface of the water to the rocks and fish that resided in the river. As the battalion moved on across the bridge and towards the Grand Palais, Chauncey moved out into the open and unbelieving of the silence, called his comrade's name again.

"Kaspar!"

A German soldier by the name of Joachim Böhler, twenty-eight, one child, and owner of a green 1925 Mercedes-Benz, was in the back of the phalanx formation. He walked towards the railing and called his own name, "Joachim Böhler!"

Chauncey responded with, "Du verdammter arschficker, dummkopf!"

Joachim aimed his weapon towards the river and fired. The bullet entered the water three feet from Chauncey's back. Chauncey repeated the insult. Joachim fired again, this time, a bit of steam exited the barrel as the bullet hit the water with a nice plopping sound.

Two feet.

Chauncey repeated the insult again, screaming it as loud as he possibly could. "DU VERDAMMTER ARSCHFICKER, DUMMKOPF!"

Joachim fired a third time. The bullet hit the river at an angle, just below Chauncey's legs. It was not a direct hit, but it was enough of a disturbance of balance to set Chauncey under. His ears rang and his mind raced to orient himself in a dark, brown river. A bit of dirt and soot entered his mouth and as he swam in the direction he thought was up, his lungs cried for air like a beautiful woman grieving over heartbreak does.

_We've been at this game too long Chauncey. We're two old war dogs running out steam and time._


	42. Chauncey

The night beckoned the _Dawn Treader_ to sleep, to dream of the eventful day, to conjure up adventure and grand epic poems about them. As the ship lay dreaming, the water was calm and the sea overall tame. Tavros, whose turn it was to play the position of helmsman, was steering the ship towards the Island of Bern, the largest in the series of the Lone Islands. The ropes from the sails swayed like a cradle and as the peaceful night was had by all, Chauncey Courtney emerged from the depths and scaled to the best of his ability, the side of the ship.

Breathing like an asthmatic without medication, Chauncey's lung were on fire. Constricting and collapsing in pain, the lungs were behaving as if he were being punched continuously in the torso. His body quivering from the cold and his senses still boggled from the shock of the bullet, he thought he was headed for safer shores. He thought he was scaling a nearby pier, or perhaps a gondola and imagined a nice bed and a decent meal, if not that, then at least a friendly face, or someone who wasn't trying to kill him, and even better, an Englishman who understood him.

As he reached the rail of the ship, Chauncey, who stood, thought he faint and fall into the water, making his efforts for naught. Still controlling over his movements, the mouse wisely and slowly turned around before falling onto the deck, landing on his back. It stung and he groaned but he didn't complain, he was simply happy to be surrounded by air. A sudden pain hit his chest and for a moment he thought he was going to slip into nothing. For his heart rate slowed and his consciousness of surroundings was nonexistent. All he knew was that for the moment, there was peace and nothing more.

Tavros, out of happenstance, noticed a loose rope. He steered the ship towards the wind and the waves, so it would navigate itself for a while and walked over to tie the rope in the standard sheepshank. However when he walked back to his post, he noticed an unconscious Chauncey. Sighing out of pity, the Minotaur kneeled down. He slowly but surely did compressions with his index and middle fingers on his right hand. After thirty of these, he stopped and pressed his ear up against the rodent's chest. He waited and began the procedure again. Upon the twelfth compression the second time around Chauncey took a breath. He opened his eyes and screamed.

"W-who-who are you, what am I doing here, where am I!?"

"Take it easy." Tavros said, "You were unconscious. You're safe, on a ship in the middle of the sea."

Chauncey looked around but did not see the point of getting up. He breathed asthmatically and Tavros thought that he was going to hyperventilate.

"Breathe!" Tavros said, placing a hand on him, "You're going to be fine. Just breathe for me, alright. Don't want you to hyperventilate and pass out on me again. Now I'm going to take you downstairs out of the open and into a bed, I'll see to it that someone takes care of you alright?"

Chauncey nodded but said nothing. He let the Minotaur escort him below deck into the quarters.

Cots in close quarters swayed east to west slowly as if a mother were singing a sweet lullaby into a child's ear. The ropes that kept the upper cots in place gently grazed a few pots and pans and other items that were stretched along the shelf and the ceiling. Nestled in their bed, Eustace, the blonde precious Cambridge native, was desperately searching for a dream to latch onto, while Reepicheep, his upstairs neighbor, a mouse respectively, had no trouble at all with this. Upon Tavros' descent into the realm of sleeping souls, Eustace, who wasn't really asleep to begin with, looked in the bull's direction and scoffed.

"Aren't you supposed to be steering the ship?" He asked.

"Don't worry about that, I've steered her straight." Tavros replied, "Another soul from the sea. He seems to be suffering from shock."

He placed Chauncey in the nearest available cot, the one diagonal from Eustace on the lower level up against a wall and beside a shelf.

"Great," Eustace said, upon realizing who, or more accurately what, Chauncey was, "another one. I'm surrounded by them apparently." He sighed and closed his eyes, "Is there no end to this circus?"

Tavros did not respond to that, instead he bid Chauncey good night and went back to his duties on deck.

Chauncey meanwhile, got himself situated and looked up, seeing the bottom of the cot and realizing how dark and gloomy it was, much like the Seine.

His mind drifted off into internal thought moments later, and during these times just before sleep, he would often talk with Kaspar about the day, what could have been better, or what should have occurred instead.

"Today I jumped into the Seine River and you died." Chauncey said. "Isn't that awful? The last memory of you is you saying nothing. I hope you fought well. I keep hoping by sheer luck that you survived it. I know you didn't. You died, and that's the end of today."

He turned himself over and silently cried.


End file.
